


Break

by K1toftheworthies (Kittheworthy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Remus Lupin, POV Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 85,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5252627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittheworthy/pseuds/K1toftheworthies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is in Azkaban and Remus, for want of a better option, is getting on with his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Azkaban

They love it when he thinks about his mother.

There must have been a time when he was able to make light of that less than ideal relationship. If he tries, he can dimly remember reading her poisonous letters aloud to the Gryffindor common room in falsetto, as if she were simply somebody unpleasant he knew of and not the person who brought him into the world to be her bitterest regret. However, here alone in the darkness things are different.

To his jailers, these memories are a treasure trove of small anguishes that even after all this time - he’s given up trying to keep track of _how much_ time - they are still finding new ones to delve into and feast upon.

  
There is no way of knowing how long this particular visit has gone on for. They can last, he believes, from a few hours to upwards of two or three days and this one has already conjured up two hitherto unexamined fragments of childhood experience that he hadn’t even been aware he still retained.

  
The first is an impression that is hazy on the details but surprisingly acute in its emotional impact. He must be around three or four and his mother’s furious face is disappearing as she closes him inside a cupboard.

  
“Stop that snivelling, Sirius Black. You’ve disgraced yourself enough.”

  
He remembers the odd scratchy feeling of his best dress robes hanging next to his face, but mostly he remembers that strange, panicky sensation of trying to stifle the sound of his crying, like trying to swallow a large stone, and the way that it makes his breathing fast and snatched.

When he comes back to himself he finds he is sobbing in the same childlike way, curled up on the floor of his cell, and the wave of self disgust and shame the realisation brings him sends and extra shudder of pleasure through the dementors.

They don’t linger on his humiliation for long. Not when there is still so much to explore.

Next his mother reaches out and takes his hand on the platform at King’s Cross as he stands in his perfectly tailored new school robes, ready to begin his first year at school. He’s nervous and perhaps desperate enough to misconstrue the rarely offered contact and, before he can check himself, nuzzles his face into her arm, soothed by the familiar scent of her perfume.

  
Her reaction is instantaneous. She flinches and swats him away with her free hand.

  
“For goodness’ sake Sirius! You’re a Black not some weakling muggle milksop! Or do you want to end up in Hufflepuff like Uncle Remy?”

  
Even a mind as violated and unhinged as Sirius’ still has a certain predictability. It’s clear where his memories will take him now...

  
“Let you be in Slytherin?” If sorting hats could laugh, then Sirius is pretty sure that is what this one would be doing.

  
 “I’m afraid that’s the only house I can’t place you in with any certainty, Black or no. Hmmm...there’s plenty of ability of course but I don’t sense much interest in using it...far too impulsive, far too quick to trust....hmmmm I do hate to disappoint but I’m sure you’ll come round -GRYFFINDOR!”

  
A few days later he’s eating breakfast in the great hall when a letter from his mother arrives. It isn’t a howler, but in some ways it is worse. He recognises the photograph immediately, though it has never been displayed in his family home. Great Uncle Remy blinks benignly through a pair of enormous spectacles. Great Uncle Remy: the last Black, and not even of his direct line, not to be sorted into Slytherin. Remy the Hufflepuff, practically a squib, who ended his days tending flowers at St Mungos.

  
It is possibly the first time that he feels a prickle of hate towards his mother. Beneath the hurt and shame there is the beginning of a resentment and a defiance that will eventually break them apart completely.

  
It is also the first time that he punches Severus Snape in the face. The boy has the misfortune to be walking past the table as Sirius opens his letter.  
“Who’s that, Black? Looks like a right old-"  
 

Unfortunately his jailers never allow him to dwell on that small satisfaction of making Snape’s nose bleed.

-

The Dementors are not empty. They feed on pain, and to do that they have to be able to understand it.

Over the years Sirius has begun to recognise their responses, the way they delight in certain details. It can be horrifying, but there is another part of him that is perversely fascinated by it all.

Sometimes he has the presence of mind to choose the memories that they examine and the results are interesting. Anything pleasant, of course, melts away like ice cream on a hot day, but so few experiences are ever truly one thing or another.   

He and James in first year, for instance. They stay up all night attempting to taste every flavour of Bertie Bott’s jelly beans and spend the entirety of the following morning vomiting in the hospital wing. Though he sustains far more serious injuries in later life, not least while working for the order, he has never felt quite as unwell since. He remembers the terrible feeling of being shaken awake in his strange hospital bed by his pale faced friend later that afternoon.

“We forgot cowpat flavour,” says eleven year old James, pressing one of the two beans into his hand. “Let’s do it together on three. Don’t let the side down, Black.”

That feeling of dread and disgust is mingled with the pang he gets picturing James at that age; all elbows and spikey hair and grin, before everything gets -

\- he steers himself with every morsel of will he has from that train of thought. They’ll end up there soon enough.  

He gropes around frantically for something else, anything to add an extra few miles to the trail that always leads in one way or another to James and Lily at Godric’s Hollow, and -   

\- he is older. It is a year or so before he breaks with his family and they are about halfway through the last stage of the animagus process. The three of them have been chewing on the same revolting mandrake leaf for more than three weeks and they have all started to feel their chosen animal awaken within. Sirius’s senses are beginning to sharpen in new ways and he has twice been caught chasing cats for reasons he has not been able to articulate afterwards.

The books tell them that animal tendencies while in human form should more or less level off in time, but the feelings are a reminder of the very real changes they are making to themselves, and the risks they are taking. Tempers are somewhat frayed. Peter’s anxiety related snoring has reached an all-time peak, and to top it off, Remus has started to have lunch with Lily Evans.

None of them know quite what to make of it. It is true that the three of them have been somewhat preoccupied with their secret and that their behaviour can't have gone completely unnoticed by their friend, but Remus - not uncharacteristically - has given no sign.

It is also true that Lily has always shown more friendliness towards Remus than to the rest of them; but that’s probably only because Remus has never called her a mudblood (a misguided first year outburst before Sirius learned to discern his parents’ views from his own), has never planted the end of her braid in a bowl of custard (a less than inspired prank of Peter’s), or (as far as they know) has not ardently pestered her all year with as much subtlety and allure as an inebriated labrador. He supposes that it might also be because Remus doesn’t have much to do with their ongoing feud with Snivellus, who Lilly Evans seems inexplicably to adore (another sign that James’ taste in girls is awful).

It isn’t every day, but it has happened often enough over the past three weeks for it to be notable.

James seems to be carefully ignoring the subject completely, chewing grimly on his mandrake leaf and spending as much time as possible on the quidditch pitch. Peter has made the odd dig at Remus to see if it sparks a reaction, but neither nor Sirius nor Peter has dared raise the issue in earnest.

Then on a rainy Thursday afternoon, James, without warning, reaches his limit.

Sirius, Remus and Peter all have history together straight after lunch, and they are making their way down there when James calls out.

“Lupin!”

Sirius turns first. James is rushing towards them, looking alarmingly as if he intends to butt heads, but instead pulls Remus round roughly by the robes. There is something dangerous in his eyes that even Sirius has only ever seen once or twice before.

The corridor grows silent as students stop to see what will happen next.

“Thought you said you were having lunch in the library, _Remus.”_

There is something unnaturally hostile in his voice. Sirius feels his senses begin to prickle and his body tense and poise for fighting.

Remus, painfully aware that the entire school appears to have stopped dead to witness this confrontation between the two of their unshakable clique, looks him levelly in the eye, though his cheeks are pink.

“I ended up going down to the lake.”

“You were with _her_  again.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you lie?”

“Because I knew you would be jealous.”

Sirius winces. Sometimes Remus’ gentle matter-of-factness can cause more damage than his own sharp tongue.

It is too much for James on this day. He raises his fist and punches Remus hard on the face and something inside Sirius is pulled in two as the boy staggers backwards against him.

James and Sirius have long since ceased to keep score of the bloody noses they have traded between them. Even Peter has been known to use his fists when things get heated, but _nobody_ touches Moony. It is an unwritten code between them that their soft spoken, thoughtful friend is theirs to protect.

Sirius actually growls and, before he knows what he is doing, he has James backed up against the wall, teeth bared. They lock eyes and, for a moment, Sirius actually thinks he might have to fight him, then James lowers his in shame.

The adrenaline begins to subside and his senses level off. The world comes back into focus and he lets go.

Peter is fussing over Remus, whose nose is bleeding and the sight annoys him.

“What the hell are you playing at, Potter?” Peter shouts just as James turns around sharply and stalks out of the hall, pushing roughly past some first years who have stopped to gawk.

Remus quickly rights himself and wriggles from his grasp.

“Moony, your nose-” Peter squeaks.

“I’m fine,” Remus says quietly. Sirius knows he can’t bear the attention.

“But you’re bleeding. Let me get Pomfrey or - "

“Just leave it, Peter.”

Remus picks up his scrolls and walks away in the opposite direction to James.

Sirius stands in the corridor next to Peter as his two friends disappear.

The taste of mandrake in his mouth rises suddenly and nearly causes him to gag. He watches Peter’s eyes dart between both paths, his face twitching nervously as Remus rounds the corner.

“Maybe we should -" Peter begins, but Sirius is tired of him, tired of them all.

He turns and follows after James without a word, leaving Peter alone.

-

It is past dinner time when James appears again. The rest of them are in their usual common room positions next to the fire. Peter is sprawled out along the rug on his stomach, one hand writing an overdue history essay, the other in constant motion between a bag of dried apples and his mouth. Remus is in the little armchair, arms wrapped around his knees, seemingly engrossed in one of his old fashioned muggle novels. He hasn’t lifted his eyes from it all evening, not even to acknowledge Sirius sitting cross-legged at his feet.

Sirius hates silence. It is too much like the tense family occasions he endures at home and on most days he will go to outrageous lengths to disrupt it. Today however, he is at a loss.

It was impossible to stay angry at James after he caught up with him by the lake. It has always been obvious to Sirius that his friend’s preoccupation with Evans is more than the light hearted infatuation he has tried to pretend it is, but that afternoon was the first time he had seen James acknowledge it. There hadn't been much that worth saying, so Sirius simply sat quietly by his side as James threw stones into the water. They had both felt the pull of their animagus selves reach new extremes today and it was at once frightening and exhilarating. 

James is still pale faced and tense when he finally joins them in the common room and Remus looks up from his book with wary eyes. Peter has managed to reset his nose to save him going to Pomfrey, but it is still a little swollen. 

“Moony...I was a proper arsehole.”

Sirius at his feet, hears Remus exhale.

“I should have explained better -"

“No,” James tilts his chin determinedly. “There is nothing to explain. She's not my girlfriend and I have no right to object if you and her...”

Remus puts his book down, a sure sign that he is distressed.

“James really it isn’t - "

“It is absolutely none of my business.”

“I know, but - "

“I won’t stand in your way. You’re my friend and if you feel strongly about her - "

There is something almost comically desperate in Remus’ expression.

“James listen. I’m not interested in Lily Evans or any girl in that way.”

It is a credit to James’ obsession with Evans that he does not even register the second part of that statement.

“You’re _not_ interested in Lily?”

“You’re not interested in _girls?”_ Peter squeaks from his spot on the floor.

For some reason, Sirius’ hands are trembling and he says nothing.

“You three are up to something," says Remus. "If you don't want me to be involved well, that's fine but...I suppose I just needed somebody else to talk to."

Sirius catches James' eye and the boy shakes his head a little. He's right. If Remus finds out the extent of the risk they intend to take for him he will do everything in his power to stop them. Even go to McGonogal.

"We are up to something," says James carefully. "And we can't tell you what it is. Yet. Can we ask you to be patient?"

Remus nods, but the tense set of his shoulders and the look of hurt on his face almost weakens Sirius's resolve. He isn't built for secrets. 

Peter sits up.

“But if you're not interested in _any_ girl does this mean you’re interested in _boys?”_

Remus shrugs, picking up his book again with a carefully affected indifference that makes something catch in Sirius’ throat.

“It hardly matters what I’m interested in, does it? I mean it’s not like I can ever actually...”

“Ever actually _what?”_ Sirius stands, his confusion suddenly forgotten in his outrage.

Remus blushes. He’s never mastered the art of hiding it.  

“It’s not illegal Moony,” says James, grinning. “Even the muggles are fine with it. You wouldn’t be breaking any rules.”

“Actually I think that muggle law is different in Scotland...” Peter begins, as Sirius’ shoe and James’ knee hit him from opposite directions.

“For god's sake James, I just mean would have to be honest about what I am, and I hardly expect once anybody -" he lowers his voice and takes a quick glance around the common room, "- _knows about me_ , that anybody in their right mind would-"

“Bollocks to that,” says Sirius.

“Well when you put it so eloquently...” Remus mouth curves up at one side.

“ _We_ know about it, and it doesn’t bother us,” says Peter warmly.

“If anything, dear Moony,” adds James, “it only adds to your mysterious allure.”

Sirius reaches round and ruffles Remus’ fine brown hair, but the gesture feels awkward and self conscious. Nothing in the world could make him love Moony less, but the situation unsettles him, causes an anxiety in the pit of his stomach that he can’t explain.

Perhaps he just doesn’t like change. It feels as if nothing is staying still at the moment.

Peter has quietly outdone them all on the romance front and has barely been without a girlfriend since he was in third year, James’ occasional trips to Hogsmeade with various girls have fizzled out over the past few months as it has become more and more apparent that only Lily will do, and now even shy, guarded Remus has shown that he knows himself to a certain extent.

The problem for Sirius is that he is afraid of what he might find if he looks too closely. It is no longer possible to deny that his family are disgusted by him, ashamed of the choices he has made, the ideas he expresses. He is getting used to the idea that he will not become the person they want him to be but he can’t deny the pull of his blood either; his features, his bearing and even his talents belong to the Blacks. The more stubbornly he pulls away from them, the more he recognises his family’s pride and determination in his defiance.

Sirius has kissed more girls than Peter. He likes it well enough when they tease him and when they run their hands through his hair and leave the smell of their perfume on his shirt collar, but he has never been able to sustain enough interest in them to allow anything to last more than a few days. He knows he has something of a reputation. James has often marvelled at his ability to convince practically any girl to go out with him, but Sirius knows that his so-called confidence only comes from that fact that none of it feels real enough to matter.  

He wonders, with a tightening in his chest, if Remus will go on dates now, in spite of his reservations about the curse. There are other boys at Hogwarts, one or two are openly _that way_ but there are more that he’s heard talk of...He wonders if Remus will go the lake with them and hold their hands and let them put their hands in his hair and kiss his mouth...

James claps Sirius on the back.

“I think we should open my mum’s homemade cider early this year, carefully pilfered for your delectation as always. A toast to the most understated big news in history.”

Peter makes a derisive sound.

“A toast to the fact that you no longer feel romantically threatened by Moony, you mean." 

“I have potions in the morning,” Remus protests as they all snort impatiently.

Sirius shakes his head in mock despair. He badly needs a drink.

“If you’re not careful Moony, you’re going to end up a prefect and then where will we be?”

Remus laughs, looking him directly in the eyes before swatting him over the head with his book.

 Sirius forgets to duck.

\-----------

It is dark when the dementors leave his cell. He thinks at first that the crying is coming from the prisoner next door, but when he finally knows himself again, he realises the sounds are his. He is curled up on the ground and his hands are raw and bloody, though he has no memory of why. Hours must have past. They always bring him back to Godric’s Hollow one way or another.

He imagines for a moment how he must look lying there on the stone floor and he can’t help laughing, just like the madman they all think he is.

Eventually he pushes himself to his feet and moves towards the tiny window. The glow of a full moon slips through and illuminates the floor with slender ribbons of light. There are a hundred reasons why this shouldn’t be a comfort, but it is.  


	2. Hoxton, 1989

Remus Lupin has become rather good at washing dishes. He is hopeless front of house, dealing with customers, but this at least, he smiles sardonically as he thinks to himself, is an area in which he can truly excel. Some of the finest OWL results in recent history and it has all been leading him to this point: head dishwasher in a muggle greasy spoon. Thank you very much Ministry of Magic.

It has been nearly nine years since the war but the werewolf stamp on his papers is as much a barrier to wizarding society today as it was those first paranoid years after Voldemort’s fall. If it wasn’t for the work he occasionally does for Dumbledore, work that allows him to travel and to feel in some small way relevant, he would probably have turned his back on the wizarding world altogether. Muggles are just as likely to hate him when they know what he is, but they are rather less likely to find out.

“Urm...grill pan needs a scrub.” Gareth, Remus’ seventeen year old acne ravaged boss places the filthy tray next to the sink with an apologetic grimace.

“Wouldn’t have left it so late if I could’ve helped it but we had that big table come in ten minutes before kitchen closed.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. Gareth is a decent sort even if he is the most hapless head chef in history - and Remus has known a few.

“Well that’s us lot finished,” the young man says, hanging up his apron. “'Night.”

Remus waits until the kitchen has emptied and then switches off the radio. He sighs in satisfaction as the room sinks into silence. Even wizards are generally agreed that most muggle music is better than theirs, but it is Remus’ personal opinion that even the muggle world reached its peak at Schubert. He hasn’t much time for pop music.

James, who had an inexplicable fascination with the Beach Boys, would have strongly disagreed with the sentiment as, he supposes, would Sirius, whose affinity with all things punk rock was directly linked to how much it annoyed his parents.

Remus frowns and looks at the grill pan. He’s going to be here a while.

He is just preparing some fresh water when the new girl walks in with a tray of dirty plates. She’s been working here about a week and she's already had three different colours of hair. Tonight it’s blue.

“That’s the last lot,” she peers into the sink and gives him a sympathetic smile. “Nothing like a filthy grill pan to really brighten up the end of a shift.”

Remus grins at her.

“I’ve done my tables. I can give you a hand with the drying if you like.”

“That’s kind,” he says, embarrassed, “but I’ll manage alright. You’ve had a long day too.”

The girl stands and looks at him for a moment, biting her lip. She fidgets a lot and there is an odd energy about her, a sort of hum and buzz that the wolf in Remus sniffs at curiously.

“Actually,” she finally says, “I really need to keep my mind off something right now. Would it be ok if I stayed a bit, kept you company?”

“Of course, though I’m afraid I’m not terribly exciting to be around.”

“That’s ok.” There is a film of sweat across her forehead even in the wintery cold of the kitchen. “I’m Lucy.”

She extends slightly trembling fingers towards him. Remus takes a hand from the sink and dries it awkwardly on his apron before shaking her’s.

“Remus. You look like you might like some chocolate.” He has three kinds in his apron pocket. “Plain, milk or one with nuts and things in?”

Lucy smiles.

“Milk please. Do you...ah... always carry this much chocolate around?”

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving home without it,” he says, and companionably breaks off a square of plain for himself.

They work for a while in good natured silence. Lucy is not a particularly attentive dish drier but he is surprisingly glad of the company.

“So my guess is that you are either just out of prison or an institution of some sort, right?”

Remus splutters. “What?”

“Not that I’m judging or anything.”

He is more amused than offended.

“Delighted as I am to have made such a positive impression, no actually.” 

The girl has the decency to look embarrassed.

“Sorry - it’s just you’re...well, a bit older than the rest of us and talk like you’ve had a decent education.”

“I’m only twenty nine!”

“And you’re the only person I’ve ever seen who wears a dress shirt tucked into slacks to come and wash dishes in a crap London cafe.”

Remus makes a mental note to contact Arthur Weasley about reviewing the ministry’s 'Guidelines on Assimilation in the Muggle Workplace' pamphlet and gives her a rueful smile.

“I’ll admit fashion has never been my strong point but what's your excuse for being here then? Bright young thing like you. Shouldn't you be...conjugating Latin verbs or something?"

“I’m addicted to heroin," she says bluntly. “It can make holding down anything regular a bit complicated."

“Oh.”

He’s seen enough of muggle life to know what heroin means.

“I’m clean,” she adds quickly, “but it has only been a few months or so.”

“Is that why you need distracting?”

She nods, eying him warily. She is obviously trying to discern what his reaction will be.

“Well,” he says, after some thought, “If it’s a diversion you need, I know a pretty good song about a wizard and a goat.”

Lucy snorts.

“It’s got seventy nine verses.”

“I’ll pass.”

“And sometimes when I’m really bored I use the washing up bubbles to make myself different types of beards...” he narrows his eyes trying to think of a muggle with distinguished facial hair. It is rather more common amongst wizards. “I could do ah...wotsisname-who is the current prime minister again?”

This time Lucy roars with laughter.

"It's _Margaret Thatcher!_ Are you sure you haven’t been locked away somewhere for ten years?”

“I told you I wasn’t much fun.”

She is quiet for a minute of two.

“You know, most people change their tune the minute I tell them I’m a junkie.”

“But you still tell them. That takes courage.”

She shrugs. “It’s easier than waiting for them to find out later.”

Remus turns his face away.

“I suppose it is.”

The grill pan is not getting any cleaner. Feeling suddenly frustrated and a little reckless, he mouths a cleaning charm under his breath and beneath the water, the grime begins to peel away.

“So you still haven’t told me anything about you. Married?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend...boyfriend?”

“No.”

“An ex you can’t let go of?”

“Something like that.”

“What happened?”

James always used to tease him about how private he was, said that extracting information from Moony was like breaking into Gringotts with a toothbrush. But James is dead and Remus is so unbearably lonely all of the time.

“Prison,” he says a little hoarsely, “he’s in prison.”

Lucy looks at him with eyes that are too old for her young features.

“Mine too,” she says, taking hold of his arm, “He was my dealer actually, total shithead. What's yours in for?”

“Murder.”

Lucy sucks in her breath.

“Did he do it?”

“Yes.”

In the end it doesn’t make it any harder to say it out loud. It hurts with the same intensity that it has for the last eight years, no more, no less.

“Fuck,” says Lucy. And then: “Would you like a cigarette?”

Remus Lupin smiles and says that he would.

\-----------

Lucy's story is depressingly mundane. She was driven out of home at sixteen by a stepfather she hated straight into the arms of a manipulative drug dealer called Martin who told her he loved her, got her hooked on heroin and sent her out to work for him to pay for her dependency. She has spent seven years falling in and out of that world but she is intelligent, resilient and fiercely funny. And she reads as voraciously as he does.

They begin meeting outside of work, at first to swap books and then just to spend time together, and he laughs more in those brief months than he has since James and Lily died. Eventually she kisses him, and he is amazed to find how soft and sweet and right she feels against his lips. He isn't sure what it means but he never has the chance to find out because on the third moon after they first meet she comes to his house uninvited.

He hears her knocking. With his wolf senses stirring he even hears the sound of her crying. She wouldn't have come all this way if it wasn't important. Martin, the ex is out of prison, looking for trouble and he knows she needs him now, but there is nothing he can do. It's twilight, he's already locked himself down in the basement.

He should have guessed she would be able to pick locks.

He hears her say his name, and he tries to stay very still, very quiet, but the change is upon him. He lets out a strangled howl and she follows the sound downstairs.

"Remus?" Her face is swollen from crying but her eyes are wide.

"Get out!" he rasps. "The door's going to -"

It snaps shut just on cue. The charm will not lift until dawn. Fail safe.

"Remus you're frightening me."

He can barely form words now but he summons the energy to fight the change, just for a moment.

"The restraints will hold," he tells her with more conviction than he feels. "I promise you'll be safe. Stay as far away as you can. I'm so sorry Lucy, so-"

Lucy screams.

He doesn't know anything after that except pain.

\----------

When he returns to himself he is curled up in the corner. At first all he can feel is an ache in his ribs and a sharp pain in his leg. He looks down and sees blood. It will need dealing with but there's something else...

"Lucy!"

She has moved an old chest of drawers against the corner of the room but he can hear her breathing behind it, fast and panicked. Remus fumbles for the key to his chains and struggles shakily to his feet, ignoring the dizziness. He only just remembers to throw on a dressing gown before he hurries over and pulls the chest away.

"Lucy! I'm so sorry I-"

She is unhurt, conscious, and for a moment he thinks that he might be able to explain and that she might understand. Then Lucy's beautiful eyes open wide and she screams and screams.

\-----------

It was all, of course, to be expected. He can no more separate himself from his curse than Sirius could resist the inherited darkness that flowed through his veins. He will never be so reckless again.

After the ministry finish their investigation and write up the report for his file, Remus goes back to work. He has already decided to give in his notice, but he needs the last few shifts to make up his rent. If he's honest with himself, he also needs to see her again and check that she's alright. For most of the evening they are so busy that she is just a blur of purple hair, bustling in and out. At the end of the night though, once the rest of the kitchen staff have left, she comes towards him.

"They always seem to leave the worst jobs for you until last," she laughs. "Need any help?"

"No thanks," he says, keeping his eyes on the sink.

"It's strange I've been here so long and yet we've never been introduced."

Remus shrugs and the girl doesn't mistake the gesture. She dumps her dishcloth next to the sink and gives him a withering look.

"Please yourself," she says, and leaves him.

\-----------

Remus allows himself one small thing. He tracks down Martin and performs a complex combination of charms that leave him convinced that he is a zookeeper from Brighton. Martin leaves London by train the next day and never bothers Lucy again. It is small consolation, but it helps.


	3. Azkaban

The last time Sirius speaks to his mother in person he is sixteen years old and it is the Christmas holiday - though at Grimmauld place they never deign to refer to that mawkish muggle tradition. Every time he comes home he feels a little more distanced from these people with whom he shares his ancient blood.

He has been made aware by now that most parents don't lock their own children up for days without meals or use magic to inflict pain, but even by Black family standards the previous summer holiday was a disaster. His parents used every means short of the imperius curse to try and force him to agree to a betrothal with one of his distant cousins - something he had refused each time with increasing vehemence and alarm. Shortly before he started back at school his father injured him so badly that he spent two days in bed barely conscious under the reluctant care of Kreacher, who endeavoured to make his recovery as slow and as painful as possible.

He doesn't know why he tried so desperately to hide the curse mark across his chest from his friends when he returned, nor why it made him feel so ashamed in the first place. He saw Remus notice it once in that quiet way he seems to notice everything, but the boy never asked how he got it. He even went to trouble of deflecting the attention of James and Peter and did it with such unforced ease that it made Sirius uneasy, reminded him that Remus has spent most of his life hiding things from people and has, by necessity, become rather good at it.

He had been dreading (he won't say fearing - he's a Gryffindor after all) his return to Grimmauld place for Christmas, certain that things would simply pick up where they left off, but since his arrival home this time, his mother and father have been disconcertingly silent on the matter. It is as if they have decided to forget the whole affair, only his parents, particularly his mother, never forget anything.

The atmosphere at Grimmauld place feels even more stifling than usual. He misses his friends with a sort of hopeless desperation that is almost a physical ache. He has exchanged one or two owls with them, but they each have families they belong with. He doesn’t want to burden them with his boredom and loneliness and so he spends long hours wandering the streets looking at the various festive displays. His parents hate it when he visits the muggle part of town so naturally he goes there almost every day.

Remus has a muggle mother and is fond of her strange Christmas traditions, so Sirius acquires a little muggle currency and buys him a snow globe with a fat red man inside. Remus has explained before something about the man breaking into peoples’ houses to reward good behaviour, but he realises when he gets it back to the house that the figure inside the globe doesn’t even _do_ anything so he spends the best part of that afternoon attempting enchantments to make it tap dance.

The next day he sees a revoltingly garish scarf depicting - of all things - some kind of stag with a ludicrous red nose that he simply has to buy for James and then, feeling guilty, he buys for Peter a tray of muggle sweets called, rather unimaginatively, a ‘selection box.’

His family have already started dinner when he arrives back. He briefly weighs up the crime of being even later against the crime of not dressing for dinner and decides to go straight in, dumping the bright muggle shopping bags next to the antique sideboard.

“You are late. And you have not bothered to dress," his father says, without looking up.

Sirius, as usual, can think of nothing to say and so shrugs and lets Kreacher fill his plate, ignoring the house elf’s disapproving scowl.

His head is so full of his friends that he doesn’t at first notice the particular atmosphere around the table. It is only when he becomes aware of the way nervous way Regulus is eying him that he takes in the tense set of his mother’s shoulders and his father’s grim expression.

“You’ve been to the muggle quarter again I see.”

It is unusual for his father to speak at all during dinner and there is an edge to his voice tonight that causes the brothers to glance at each other.

“I bought some - just some stupid joke presents for my school friends,” he says, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

“Those Gryffindor weirdos you mean,” Regulus sneers. The younger boy is so obviously trying to diffuse the tension in his own idiotic way that Sirius nearly grins at him. Instead, he gives him a brotherly kick under the table, but before Reg can retaliate, their father brings his fist down on the table with a terrible thud that makes Kreacher scream and drop a bowl of mashed potatos all over the floor.

“I won’t have it in this house!”

Both brothers stare at him and then each other.

“Orion,” his mother says evenly, “We agreed to wait until the holidays were-“

“The boy is out of control. You’ve been too soft on him Walburga and he’s grown up a muggle loving deviant!”

Sirius blinks.

“Would either of you care to explain what this is about?”

“Kreacher - get out!”

The house elf is still attempting to scrub potato and broken glass china from the floor.

“But mistress the mess -"

“OUT! And don’t you dream of eavesdropping do you hear?”

Once the door is closed, Walburga Black takes a deep breath and fixes him with a cold stare.

“We have been to see the dream reader.”

Sirius feels the blood drain from his face as his mother goes on.

“You left us no choice. After you refused to even consider the match with - "

“This is madness...the whole lot of you are...” he can’t think straight. The invasiveness of it, the whole awful realisation makes his head swirl.

Dream reading is an ancient dark magic that allows the practitioner an insight into the dreams of another, gives them glimpses of thoughts and feelings that even the dreamer might not consciously aware of. It is so morally dubious that purveyors of such enchantments are rarely to be found in respectable wizarding society, and so complex... they would have needed a whole array of personal items to even begin to work that kind of magic...hair from his pillow, his clothes, his writing...

“Is it even legal?”

“Oh don’t look at me with that priggish Gryffindor outrage. Not when we know now the extent of your disgrace!”

Sirius stands.

“How dare you -"

“How dare YOU!” his father shouts, rising too.

“You have always been a disappointment to us, but we could never have imagined the extent of your depravity. That you are consorting not only with the lowest dregs of society but engaging in unspeakable acts with other men, taking sub-human creatures as lovers...”

“Tell us where you are meeting these degenerates, Sirius. I know it can’t be Hogwarts...”

It is not the moment to laugh, but he can’t help it. The whole situation is absurd.

“What exactly do you think I’m doing? Bunking off my Hogsmeade trips for orgies in the wizarding underworld? Whoever you went to was clearly a fraud.”

“There is no mistake,” says his father. “I will not have a mincing degenerate sodomite as heir of this house and you will not be returning to Hogwarts until we have this matter brought under control."

“I’m sixteen. You can’t stop me,” he says, even though he knows they can. His mind is moving too fast, and in his panic he reaches for his wand.

His father is a thin, sickly looking man but a powerful wizard.  He disarms him without missing a beat.

“You have a lot to learn Sirius,” Orion sneers, “and you _will_ be brought to heel.”

\-----------

They lock him in his room and bar the windows and doors with every conceivable security charm. Without his wand he frighteningly powerless.

The silence and the confinement only feed his agitation. He tries becoming Padfoot but the urge to bark and run at the door is almost overwhelming.

He had feared at first that they had found out he was an animagus. The notion that he might have also implicated his friends had terrified him but this -this nonsense is in a way worse. He still doesn’t really understand what they think he has been doing or how they have come to that conclusion. It makes his situation horribly uncertain.

He is not surprised when it is his mother who comes to him. His father has never been one for negotiation, and it has always been she that he must be wary of.

She has brought him a tray of food and sets it down on his writing desk. 

“I imagine you are hungry.”

“Thank you mother, but I’d really prefer my wand back actually.”

“You were disarmed with such ease we thought you were anxious to give it up.”

Walburga smiles scornfully as he flushes.

“What do you want? Come for the more explicit details of my deviant sex romps?”

His mother steps forward neatly, and slaps him hard across the face.

“Your father talks of disinheriting you! Don’t you realise how serious this is?”

“After all the times he has threatened it, I suppose it would be amusing to finally be disowned for something I _didn’t_ do.”

He is glad he doesn’t have to lie to her. For a woman so out of tune with everything about him, she can be frighteningly perceptive. He holds her gaze defiantly and sees the first flicker of doubt cross her face.

“But the reader was so certain...” she mutters, “...the werewolf was central to it all...”

_Werewolf..._

It’s only then that he realises, with a sickening lurch, what the dream reader has seen. He isn’t quick enough to school his features and his mother’s eyes widen in realisation.

“Unless of course you are telling the truth! You are besotted with some filthy creature but you’re such a poxy little Gryffindor prude that you haven’t even the courage to bed him!”

Even the notion is something he has barely even acknowledged himself. To have something so tentative and so personal put by that woman in such a way is almost too much to bear. He clenches his fists, doesn't trust himself to speak.

Convinced by his silence that she now has the measure of the situation, Walburga softens and kneels down next to him, rubbing her hand through his hair. The gesture is so unlike her that Sirius feels at once soothed and revolted.

“Listen to me, Sirius. Your father might not see it this way, but we Blacks have always been extraordinary. You are not the first to display a certain...exoticism in your tastes. You needn’t give that up.”

Sirius winces.

“Mother -"

“Agree to a suitable match, produce and heir and be discreet. That is all that I ask. I daresay this wolf is living in some squalid commune somewhere. We can buy it for you - take it on as a servant of some sort - and when you are married you can use it as you will. A preference for boys will reduce the risk of bastards at least.”

Sirius pulls away from her and stands up shakily.

“Enough,” he says. “I won’t marry anyone for their bloodline. Not even if you buy me a whole fucking harem! Don’t you realise how ridiculous that sounds?”

His mother stiffens.

“I will not allow a son of this house to disgrace our name.”

“As long as I give you a pureblood heir and wear my dress robes to dinner I don’t think you care what I do.”

Her patience spent, his mother stands.

“Spare me your childish whining. You will do your duty as the firstborn of this family or we will find out the identity of that filthy creature and we will destroy it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

It’s an odd feeling, but suddenly he does understand. Everything is so clear it is as if time has slowed down and he can stand back and look at the world cell by cell.

Walburga is too incensed to see the change in him. He takes one more look at her porcelain pale face and the dark eyes that are so like his own before she leaves him. He already knows then that he will never see her again.

-

As soon as she is gone he bars the door-muggle style-with as much of his own furniture as he can. Next he rolls away the rug and prises open the trapdoor beneath. The passage connecting his room to Regulus’ was probably intended originally to be used by house elves and has not been used by the brothers in some years. Even if they wanted to, neither of them are small enough to fit through there anymore. Yet Padfoot might.

Even as a dog he has to scrabble through on his stomach, but he makes it to the other end. Regulus hears the scratching straight away and pulls wide the trapdoor. Then comes the tricky part. He leaps out as soon as there is space enough and transforms midair - fast enough hopefully to keep Padfoot a secret. The effect must be rather impressive. It’s amazing what you can achieve when you are desperate enough, he thinks. Still, he lands with quite a painful crack on to Regulus’ meticulously polished floor.

“Sirius! What the...how did you-?”

“Wandless magic,” he says with what he hopes is an air of bored superiority.

“What are you doing here? Not come to add incest to your list I hope?” Regulus sneers.

“Not your lucky day, Reg,” he says, taking a moment to absorb how his brother’s room has changed since he had last seen it: Slytherin colours, predictable, pureblood propaganda...worse than he feared.

“I need your help.”

“And why should I help you? You’re a weirdo, you’re a blood traitor and now, apparently, you’re a queer.”

Padfoot snarls and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to centre himself. It is overwhelmingly confusing to have something in himself that he is so unsure of bandied around in that way. 

“I’m leaving. For good. I just need you to get my wand.”

Regulus stares at him incredulously.

“Think about it, Reg. I’ve no interest in inheriting. If I’m gone you’re the heir, but if you don’t help me now they are going to force me to get married. I’ll be here to stay and there will be gay vampire orgies here every night.”

“They’ll come after you.”

“Not if you tell them about the muggle girls I got pregnant.”

Regulus blanches.

“Is that true?”

“Not remotely,” Sirius grins, though it feels hollow. "But our parents will never look at me again and the whole glorious dynasty will be yours.”

“Why do you hate us so much?”

The question disarms him.

“I don't. Not even mother really but - "

“It wasn't always this way - when we were kids...it’s just those Gryffindors you hang around with now, Potter and the like...You know his parents don't even celebrate Sa-

“Look - will you help me or not?" 

Regulus rolls his eyes, yet there is hurt in his expression too, that Sirius aches to remedy but doesn't know how.

“I’ll help you Siri, but it’s only so I can turn your room into a potions lab.”

_This is it then._

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, he pulls his little brother in for a rough hug. Reg snorts but he doesn’t pull away.

“Wait here. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

Without a wand, Sirius has to make do with his brother's quill to draw beards and moustaches on the photograph of last year's Slytherin quidditch team. The vandalised players shake their brooms at him, but his hands have nearly stopped trembling by the time he's finished and he feels a little more himself.

Regulus is as good as his word and returns swiftly with Sirius’ wand just as he is dropping the quill back on the desk.

“It was stupidly easy,” he says. “On the mantelpiece.”

Sirius can breathe deeper still with his wand in his hand again.

“Listen Reg, I know it’s none of my business, but all of this blood purity stuff..." he motions to the other posters and newspaper clippings pinned up around the room, “...just be careful, okay? And if you ever need help - it doesn’t matter how deep you’re in - come and find me.”

Regulus laughs but will not meet his eyes.

“Go," he says. "Have you even figured out how you're going to sneak out yet?"

Sirius offers his brother his most charming smile in response as he performs the body-bind curse. 

"Who said anything about sneaking?"

Regulus' eyes widen as his arms snap to his side and he falls sideways on to the bed.

"Sorry Reg, but for your sake we can't have them thinking that you helped me out, and I need to make this good."

His brother's face is red and he makes a strangled, angry sound, but the curse is complete.

"I'll make it up to you back at school, okay?"

Sirius doesn't pause to wait for a reaction. He closes his eyes, points his wand and blows the door off its hinges.

-

It doesn’t feel completely real until a few days later. It is morning and he’s lying on a makeshift mattress bed in James’ room waiting for his friend to wake up. At Hogwarts he wouldn’t think twice about leaping up into James’ bed, but here he is less certain. It is not just because this is James’ house - it’s also about what his family said he was, and whether or not they are right.

He has told James very little about his reasons for leaving, and his friend knows better than to ask. The Potters have all been achingly kind - Mr Potter is even in the process of clearing out the study to make him a permanent bedroom - but he’s pleased to be sharing for now. It’s easier when he doesn’t have as much space to think.

The pain comes out of nowhere, a terrible burning in his wrist. He screams. James is awake and at his side in seconds.

“What is it?”

It takes Sirius a few moments to gather wits enough to speak. He turns his sleeve up with shaking fingers and reveals a hideous burn in the shape of a B with a sword thrust through the top space.

“It’s a Foe’s Brand,” he gasps, “I wonder if they did it to Andromeda too.”

“Merlin’s beard! What century do those loonies think we’re living in? Does it do anything apart from hurt like fuck?”

“It burns when I go near the family.”

James snorts.

“Pads -  _everyone_ is a Black! You can’t just pass out with pain every time you walk past the Slytherin table at breakfast. We have a reputation to uphold."

Sirius smiles weakly.

“I think it’ll only be this bad for direct family." The realisation hits him with a pang. "They probably did it to keep me away from Reg.”

The mark turns out to in fact be rather useful for his later work for the order, niggling now and then when a potential enemy is nearby.

When his cousin Bellatrix arrives at Azkaban, a year or so after his own incarceration, it hurts nearly as keenly as that first morning.

The prisoners are taking their weekly hour of exercise in the courtyard. Sirius has lived so much in his mind those first months that the pain comes as such a shock that he staggers against the wall.

“Pleased to see me, cousin?”

“Not really.” Making words with his mouth feels strange, and he can’t remember the last time he did it.

“I hoped when I heard about all those poor muggles you killed that you had decided to join us,” she says, drawing in close and twisting a finger round a lock of his hair - when did it get so long? “I am reliably informed, however, that you acted alone.”

Sirius, concentrating on not letting the pain show any more than it already does can only shrug.

“Pity,” she says. “You’re features are so exquisitely Black. You would look so noble at the Dark Lord’s side when he returns.”

Sirius laughs then, though the sound frightens even him.

“He’s not coming back, Bella. He was killed by a child.” _By my godson_ , he wants to say, but he doesn’t think he can get the words out without crying or screaming or laughing. It’s probably the first time he acknowledges to himself that he his losing his mind.

Still, it is enough to infuriate his cousin who is rather reassuringly further down the path to insanity than he. She simply screams and pulls at her own tangled hair.

“Lies! Lies!”

And then, as if the outburst never happened, she straightens up in a way that makes him think of his mother and smiles.

“I was sorry to have to leave your wolf behind.”

It’s like being punched in the chest.

“My what?”

“Rather careless of you I thought. Didn’t you know that responsibility for those doggies passes to next of kin? The Ministry didn’t give a fig about the fact that you had been disowned and your parents were only too happy to relieve themselves of the burden. And so I found myself with a nice little halfblood pet all of my very own.”

Sirius has her pressed against the wall with his hand around her neck before he even knows what he is doing. His wrist sings with pain and it helps.

“Where is he?”

Bellatrix grins.

“I always knew Lupin was a bookish little drip, but he really wasn’t much fun at all. Always crying - and he wouldn’t cooperate in any of our games. Still, we got out money’s worth at the full moon.”

“Where is he?”

“How should I know? As you can see, I’ve been rather preoccupied of late.”

Sirius grips tighter.

“’Cissa, most likely,” she croaks, “Or one of the rehab camps. Those of lycanthropic disposition are the natural allies of the Dark Lord, Sirius. The Ministry must be vigilant.”

Sirius lets her go and turns away without a word. He keeps hold of himself until he is back in his cell and then he vomits. When the dementors come for him next, it is their longest visit to date and when they have finished, another piece of him has unravelled. It is almost a mercy.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Berlin, 1987

Berlin, 1987  
  
It is still dark outside, but the breeze from the open window is thick with the warmth of summer. It’s oppressive. Remus can smell wine mixed with the sweat on his skin. He can’t lie here anymore.  
  
He tries pulling at the bed sheet tentatively, and the figure beside him barely moves. Florian is his name; he’s a muggle, a punk with features much darker than most from this part of the world.  
  
Remus feels around for his shirt and trousers. He is fully dressed with his feet on the floor when Florian stirs.  
  
“Frühstück?” he asks, a little reproachfully. Remus feels his cheeks burn and is glad of the darkness that masks it.  
  
“Nein. Danke.” There is no point in explaining that this is better for both of them; that Remus isn’t good for more than one desperate, wine-blurred evening anyway.  
  
The young man shrugs and lights a cigarette from a packet on the floor. He doesn’t offer one to Remus.  
  
“It is not good...” he says in hesitant English, “to be walking in the street at this time. It is... gefährlich?”  
  
“Dangerous,” says Remus, automatically. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”  
  
The man looks at him cryptically for a moment.  
  
“Perhaps you are using your ah...Zauberstick?”  
  
Remus freezes.  
  
“Ich verstehe nicht...” he lies, but Florian only smiles.  
  
“My sister is also a-do you say witch in English? The only one in our family.”  
  
He takes a drag from his cigarette and looks again at Remus.  
  
“In case that is why you think you must run.”  
  
Remus exhales slowly, regret making his stomach clench. All he wants is to climb back into the bed, but it’s impossible. Although he knows more than he first suspected, Florian is not aware of what Remus really is. Not to mention the fact that in the dim early morning light, with those dark eyes and that long hair, with the cigarette held so insouciantly to his lips he could almost be...  
  
“I have an appointment,” says Remus, trying to smile. At least he doesn’t need to lie.  
  
Florian takes a drag from his cigarette and looks him in the face.  
  
“I know that there was a war in your country. My sister says that there are still those who...are wishing bad things for people like her.”  
  
“I am not one of them.”  
  
“I know,” Florian’s mouth quirks, “I saw already your arms.”  
  
Remus remembers back to last night in the bar and the way Florian had rolled up his sleeves and run his fingers along his wrists.  
  
So much for constant vigilance he thinks, ruefully, but he can’t help giving the man a shy smile.  
  
“I know also that the-what was the word...danger is returning. When I say it is not safe for you on the street I mean it serious. In some ways it is safer on the other side of the wall.”  
  
“I...thank you...”  
  
Florian stands.  
  
“If you have to go then use your...” he does a waving motion with his hand that makes Remus smile again.  
  
“Wand,” he says.  
  
“Wand,” smiles Florian and kisses him on the cheek. He smells of smoke and wine and things Remus doesn’t want to remember.  
  
“Come back some time, if you like.”  
  
Remus nods. It is hard to think straight when he’s that close.  
  
“Danke,” he manages, “Danke sehr.”  
  
Florian steps back, and smiles as Remus takes his wand from his jacket. There is a hole in the lining that needs stitching.  
  
“Tschüss,” says Florian. “Perhaps we see each other again.”  
  
“Perhaps.”  
  
 He realises it is a lie even before he apparates.  
  
  
  
\----------  
  
Dumbledore always sends him off on these ‘errands’ as he calls them, with a muggle credit card and enough wizard currency to live comfortably for months.  
  
“Be sure to spend as immoderately as possible while you’re there, my boy,” he always says. “Some of wizardkind’s greatest achievements have followed the consumption of a superlative whisky or twelve.”  
  
Even so, it doesn’t sit well with Remus to be extravagant with money that isn’t his, but the only cafe in the vicinity is rather more up-market than he is accustomed to and Andromeda Tonks is over an hour late. He’s tried to clean himself up as best he can, but his faded clothes and dishevelled appearance have already raised eyebrows. Remus is on his third cup of tea when she arrives. It’s deeply unsatisfying stuff, served as a glass of hot water with the bag on the side, but at least there’s fresh milk.  
  
“Remus Lupin, good grief! Last time we met, you were a snot-nosed Gryffindor squirt!”  
  
He stands and grins. She is as immaculately turned out as the sixth year prefect and daughter of House Black that he remembers from school, but her features are softer and lined by laughter.  
  
“I’m hardly likely to forget. You were taking off two hundred house points if I recall.”  
  
He extends a hand and Andromeda takes it, her smile widening.  
  
“It was fifty each, to be fair. You did set Lucius Malfoy’s hair on fire - and during his final speech as head boy. ‘Cissy did scream so.”

He can’t help laughing at the memory. It had been Sirius’ idea of course, but it had taken the four of them to make the spell work from the back of the hall. Not bad for first years.  
  
Andromeda declines his offer of tea.  
  
“I am fearfully late I realise. A symptom of being a Tonks I’m afraid. Nymphadora is going back to school in a couple of days and her father has decided to hold a muggle inspired ceremony where he attempts to prepare sausages and other foodstuffs over a crude outdoor grill.”  
  
“A barbequeue?” Remus offers, mildly.  
  
“Yes that’s it, you clever thing.” Andromeda has a distracted way of constantly moving and fiddling with things when she speaks. She has rearranged the items on the table and the contents of her handbag at least three times, but it is more a surplus of energy than a nervous habit and it is so exactly like Sirius; although Sirius was always much more likely to be destroying things than rearranging them.  
  
“The whole house is in an uproar,” she continues. “A squib could cast the charm required to light the fire but Ted insists that would ‘spoil the fun.’ Though from the shouting and swearing that is going on, I can hardly imagine the old fool is enjoying himself. If Dumbledore hadn’t popped in by floo and agreed to change the portkey time, I wouldn’t have made it here at all.”  
  
“I’m very glad you did. It is very kind of you to agree to help.”  
  
Andromeda’s eyes grow serious.  
  
“I only hope I can help. I'm not a Black any more, by law. It could make things more complicated.”  
  
“It might, but Dumbledore and I are hoping that the binding charms will only be connected to lineage.”  
  
“Perhaps blood will tell after all,” she says, her face unreadable. Then her mouth quirks. “Well come on Lupin, enough of this dilly dallying. Let us go and do what we can for freedom and justice- and of course to preserve my husband’s right to his _barneyqueues!_ ”  
  
\-----------  
  
The library building that they need is on the east side of Berlin, but there is a wizard’s entrance through the rear of a back alley antique shop that makes life considerably easier.  
  
The old shopkeeper is a muggle and doesn’t appear to be aware that the portal exists, nor that a large amount of his stock is designed for wizards; there is a collection of broken children's toys Remus remembers from his own childhood on a shelf in the corner and an extremely rickety pile of old broomsticks at the door. Remus smiles at the shopkeeper as they enter and receives a glower in response.  
  
“It’s rather like the platform at King’s Cross,” he explains to Andromeda, once they are alone at the back, and they push through the faded second hand postcard display with arms linked, into the darkness beyond.  
  
Once inside, there is a tunnel that leads them directly into the vast magical section of the old library. Remus’ written german is much better than his spoken. He could and indeed has spent days exploring the contents of the dusty shelves, but Mrs Tonks is rather less impressed.  
  
“I hate old libraries, everything so still and quiet. It’s like the past forced into pickle jars.”  
  
It is something else she has in common with Sirius.  
  
There is an area devoted to the dark arts but it is barely more exhaustive than the restricted section at Hogwarts. However, if you can de-transfigure the lever disguised as book detailing the rudiments of parseltongue, speak the counter curse as the space between the bookshelves widens, make sure you have your wand ready for the boggart at the entrance and avoid the three cursed slabs on the way along the passage, then you will find yourself in a whole new chamber.

And if Andromeda notices that Remus’ boggart becomes a full moon, she does not say.  
  
The room is small and made of stone, and the walls seem almost to weep with the presence of dark magic.  
  
“He’s been here?” she asks.  
  
“He made it.”  
  
Andromeda shivers.  
  
"It's like a part of him is still alive."  
  
Remus says nothing. The less she knows the safer she is.  
  
There is a chest before them, and before that there is a bowl set upon a stone altar, and in the bowl there is a dagger. All around is a feeling of dread and despair. It heightens exponentially the closer one gets to the chest. Remus passed out the first time he tried to approach it and when he attempted to fill the bowl himself, the curses would have killed him had he not had the presence of mind to apparate directly to The Burrow where Molly Weasely quite simply saved his life with some impressively level headed counter cursing and a mug of hot chocolate.  
  
The bowl requires an offering of blood. The blood must be freely given and - as Remus discovered the hard way - it must be pure.  
  
He watches Andromeda pick up the dagger and inspect it primly.  
  
"I've brought a sterilised needle," he offers. "I'm sure there isn't any need to use the-"  
  
"Black's never do things by halves," she says, and slices into her palm with a force that makes him wince.  
  
Immediately the room shudders. Remus pulls out his wand, ready to counteract anything that might befall her, but all that follows is silence and the dawning sensation that the repelling force has disappeared.  
  
They eye each other warily. Andromeda makes to move forward but he puts a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Wait," he says, and pulls a bandage from his coat pocket. He offers her a square chocolate as she binds her hand. Her face is pale, lit by her wand, but she smiles and takes it.  
  
"Such a resourceful young man."  
  
"I do my best."  
  
They venture forward tentatively, but there is nothing to stop them from approaching the chest. It's almost too easy.  
  
The chest has two metal handles. Andromeda tries them first, but the wood of the lid is swollen and tight and Remus is stooping to help her, reaching for a handle when she suddenly cries out.  
  
"Wait!”  
  
Remus starts and stares around him, looking for the danger.  
  
"It's silver plated, you fool."  
  
He stiffens and feels the blood rush to his face. There are many innocent ways she could have found out, but he feels exposed and ashamed all the same. He always does.  
  
He is silent for a moment and she rubs his shoulder apologetically.  
  
"Sorry old thing. It was rude of me to blurt it out like that. I only know because 'Cissa used to keep me up to date with family matters.”  
  
"Family matters?" Remus feels dizzy.  
  
"I just mean after the business with Sirius and..."  
  
He had known they were not going to get through the day without his name coming up, but this is something else.  
  
"He told them I was a werewolf?"  
  
It shouldn't hurt as much as it does. It's only one more betrayal to add to the others and this is not remotely the time or the place to be once again lamenting his horribly misplaced affections. He has had most of the last nine years for that, and yet he feels something inside himself crumple. It’s pathetic how easily he is reduced to this.  
  
Andromeda straightens up, running a hand through her hair.  
  
"Didn't Sirius ever explain to you why he ran away from home?"  
  
"No," says Remus, flatly.  
  
"But I understood you two were..."  
  
"There was a lot he didn't tell me. Obviously."  
  
"Yes but-"  
  
"It doesn’t matter. Let's get this opened up. I’ve got some leather gloves in my bag."  
  
He tries his best to smile at her but she looks troubled.  
  
"My portkey isn't until seven. I should like to talk about this some more but not here. Ideally over a gin and tonic. Will you indulge me? There is a rather good bar just off the Rosenstraße."  
  
Remus nods, because there isn't much else he can do. Perhaps he can wriggle out of it afterwards, perhaps not.  
  
Between them they are able to prise off the lid with little effort.  
  
“Hardly impressive,” says Andromeda, surveying the contents. Her dismissive tone amuses him, in spite of everything.  
  
“It’s fourteenth century! It's the only one of its kind in the world.”  
  
“There’s only half of it there.”  
  
“I’m working on it.”  
  
“You were expecting this?”

Remus grins sheepishly.  
  
“Actually there's even less than half here. Dumbledore has some other fragments already.”  
  
He takes some cloth from his bag and wraps the book carefully before placing it inside. Andromeda watches, her eyes wide and white in the gloom.  
  
“Let’s leave this place," she says when he is done.  "It’s awful.”  
  
\----------  
  
At the threshold of the antiques shop, Remus realises that there figures waiting for them outside. He takes hold of Andromeda's arm, gripping it hard and turns to her as casually as he can.  
  
“Looks like rain," he smiles, looking her straight in the face. "Why don't you apparate right now dear, and I'll meet you back for that gin and tonic in an hour or so."  
  
Andromeda doesn’t misunderstand.  
  
“Of course," she replies, and vanishes immediately.  
  
He has about three seconds to grab the broomstick at the doorway before they fall on him. The broom is an older model than he's ever seen before and he's an average flyer at the best of times, but somehow he is climbing upwards, even as their hands grab at his clothes.  
Once he is above the rooftops he gets a better view of them, though looking down is enough for him to almost lose his balance.  
  
There are three of them, all following his progress on foot. He just needs to get low and they'll lose him behind the taller buildings. Then the stunning spell hits him from behind and he begins to fall.


	5. Azkaban

The pub is busier than he anticipated. It is, he supposes, Saturday night but since leaving school he's barely aware of the difference between weekdays and weekends. There is a war on after all; education, days off, normality, are things they pursue in snatched moments here and there and somehow the days tend to blur into one another. Remus of course still lives in the same quietly ordered manner he always has - England will fall to Voldemort before that boy relinquishes his routine - but Sirius can't see the point of getting dressed if he's spending the morning working at the flat, or of eating lunch simply because it's lunch time. Especially when there is nobody to make it for him.  
He has avoided their local for obvious reasons and has plumped for one in town near the theatre. It's a muggle establishment, all low beams and white walls, masquerading as Tudor, which he likes for the absurdity of it. He grew up suffocated by the weight of history around him and he finds the flimsiness of this place endearing.

Still, he never would have suggested it if he had remembered it was a weekend. They only get a table after James sabotages a first date by causing a young man to spill beer down his companion's dress with a spell, and even then it is a cramped table right next to the toilets.

Once they are settled James sits back in his chair and puts an arm easily round Lily and Sirius can't ignore how wonderfully right they look together. James has never been handsome exactly, but there has always been an easy grace about him, and Lily fits it perfectly; her cheeks are still rosy from the January frost and her eyes are bright in the candlelight. She radiates a warmth that seems to sustain them both, strong and steady.

There are occasions when Sirius finds it hard. James has always taken being loved as his due; it's probably the reason he finds it so easy to love others, but it can be difficult not to feel like an ugly, broken thing next to that. He might never be able to have what they have he thinks, but he cares for them both with a fierceness that makes his chest hurt. He feels that it is in some way his duty to protect this love of theirs. He can't deserve them but he can keep them safe, whatever it takes. Remus says it's the dog in him that makes him this way; loyal to the point of idiocy he says, and perhaps he's right.

"Where's Moony?"

Sirius blinks.

"He isn't poorly again is he?" Lily eyes widen in concern. "Last month was awful."

Lily is probably the only person that Remus will tolerate fussing from, and she makes sure she does enough of it for all of them.

"Nothing like that. He's gone out to a boring concert."

"But I thought you had something to tell us."

"I do-"

"Pete can't make it either. He's got a family thing."

"You invited Wormtail?"

"It sounded important." James narrows his eyes accusingly. "Why don't you want Moony and Wormtail here?"

"It is important! I do! It's just-Merlin's left testicle Prongs..." This is so bloody typical of James, who smirks infuriatingly at him.

"Alright keep your hair on. It is your one beauty after all."

He can't help smiling at that; an allusion to the day they made Remus read extracts from the soppy muggle novel he was reading. Sirius had actually caught James finishing it in secret weeks later.

"I just wanted to talk to you first. Alone. I didn't ask you to commence a fucking call to arms! I didn't even ask you to bring your excellent fiancé - no offence Lily."

"None taken," she smiles crookedly. "Though I think it's fair to say that I'll be better than James at looking like I care about your problems."

"True. Prongs does do that fidgeting thing when he's bored."

"I care," says James in an injured tone. "Just get on with it."

Sirius takes a deep breath and decides to roll a cigarette first. His friend narrows his eyes.

"If you are trying to get out of being best man Padfoot I swear-"

"Don't panic," he licks the paper and curls it round tightly. Rolling by hand is a muggle trick he has been perfecting for years. He did it after dinner once at Grimmauld Place to annoy his father and it earned him a black eye. Subsequently making the point that physical violence was rather a muggle-like response had not been his wisest decision that day..."I would never squander the opportunity to tell the story about the invisibility cloak and the Hufflepuff girls dorm."

Lily puts her drink down with a thud.

"That was you two?"

"Actually Moony was there too," Sirius grins.

"Moony? But.."

"Contrary to popular myth, the presence of scantily clad Hufflepuff girls was not our reason for being there," says James. "It was merely a bonus."

"Pity McGonagall was there too," Sirius muses, remembering just in time to light his fag on the candle and not with his fingers. "All in all, not one of our success stories."

Lily snorts derisively.

"So are you going to tell us why you summoned us here - or in fact didn't in my case."

"It's not a big deal," he begins, cagily. He is doing this because he can't keep all of this in any more but now the moment has come it is impossible to begin. He hunches over the table and takes a deep drag from his cigarette. Maybe he ought to forget the whole thing before he ruins it like he ruins everything.

"He's doing the slinky shoulder thing, Lily. What do we do?"

"The what?"

"It's what you do when you're trying to wriggle out of something. You start pouting and sort of pouring yourself over objects."

"It's quite sexy," adds Lily. "Oh come on James - it is! And anyway, he's far more at risk of running off with you than me..."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sirius asks weakly, just as James splutters: "What?!"

"Sirius Black, we all know you've romanced your fair share of women too, but you're hardly discreet."

Sirius takes his wine and drains it.

"Actually," he says, his throat dry, "that was what I needed to talk to you about."

James turns to Lily and then back to him.

"But Pads," he says, running a hand through his hair, "you've been shagging blokes since we were at school. It's not exactly news."

Sirius doesn't know how to continue. It all seems suddenly ridiculous, but if they make fun of him now he doesn't know what he will do.

Lily breaks the silence by standing and picking up their glasses with an impatient sniff.

"He is obviously trying to talk to you about his long standing obsession with Remus. Please tell me this isn't a surprise to you, Potter."

Both of them stare at her and she makes an exasperated noise. Sirius has offended James in the past by saying that he thinks Lily gets more ginger when she is annoyed, but it is not the the time to prove his point. He can't even meet his friend's eyes.

"I'm going to get the next round in but the bar's rammed," says Lily, rolling her eyes. "See you both in a bit."

Sirius rolls a cigarette and gives it to James before making another for himself.

"So by the look on your face I'm guessing Lily has it..."

"More or less exactly right, yes."

James smokes thoughtfully for a moment while Sirius pulls at a frayed thread from his fingerless gloves. 

"Pads, we both know that Remus is..."

"Exquisite. Too good for me. Not interested."

"Delicate. I mean he's never been with anyone that I know of, and if he does I think it will be for the long haul...you've been living with him for what, three months and maybe you're bored and he's there...I just worry that what might be a bit of fun for you could mean a lot more to him and..." he takes another drag from his cigarette. Smoking always looks strange on James. Lily will be furious.  
"What did she mean when she said 'long standing' obsession?"

"Moony is the main reason I broke with my family."

James actually spits part of his mouthful of beer, which he can't help but admit is a little satisfying.

Even so, it's still difficult to talk about - even all this time later; the dream reader, his mother's threats. It is humiliating to be involved in something so sordid when everything is so very right about James and his family. He can still hardly believe that the Potters wanted anything to do with him as it was and he regrets that he never told his reason for leaving to old Fleamont Potter before he died. He wonders if it would have changed things.

With James though, the hardest thing is admitting that he put Remus in danger, however unwittingly, but when he is finished his friend reaches over the table and grips his arm warmly.

"Why didn't you tell me mate? I could have helped!"

"How?" Sirius laughs a little bitterly. "You and me against the Blacks? "

"Good practice for the death eaters."

Sirius shrugs.

"Well now there's a war on, Orion is dead, Reg is Merlin knows where and we could all be killed within a year. I think I should tell him how I feel."

"Do you think he's interested in you...you know, like that?"

"Sometimes."

"Has he ever given any sign?"

There is a familiar pang in his gut.

"At school...shortly after I left home. He kissed me."

James' eyebrows rise above his glasses.

"And..?"

He couldn't help the unmistakable hum between them back then, though he tried. Remus had felt it strongly enough that he had dared, that quiet rainy afternoon with the others away, to touch Sirius' face lightly with his hands and place a tentative, questioning kiss on the side of his mouth. Sirius had allowed himself a moment to know it before he pulled away, already missing the rightness of his touch, the way he smelled. The unguarded look of hurt on Remus' face quickly turned into a tight sardonic smile. He stood up, opened his mouth to speak and closed it again.

They have never mentioned it since.

"He rejected him." Lily sits back down with two pints and an entire bottle of red wine for Sirius.

"Pub's finest chateaux de shite, Sirius. Hope you like it."

James is staring at his fiancé with an expression of astonishment and fear.

"How the-?"

"Remus told me."

"But he never talks about anything - to anyone."

She shrugs. "He didn't go into detail."

"Quite the shoulder to cry on aren't we," says James, slightly resentfully.

"You and Sirius are closer than brothers and Pete couldn't keep a secret of his life depended on it. I don't think he had much choice."

James frowns but seems satisfied.

"So you decide you are madly in love with Remus but you need to protect him from your bonkers relatives - that's fair enough. You reject his advances for noble yet stupid reasons - also fine, though honestly I'm amazed Moony had the guts to do that. But Snuffles dear, this is where I get confused. Pretty much the next thing you do is tell Sinivellus about him being a werewolf!"

"Well when you put it like that it does seem a bit..."

"Insane?" says James.

"Hopeless?" says Lily.

"And then there was the Matthew Smart affair." James goes on, ignoring Sirius' grimace.

"The violin boy?" Lily asks.

"The same. Remus was seeing him just before he left to go to that muggle music school in Cobham - that is until Sirius bedded him himself at the Yule ball!"

"Sirius you didn't!"

Sirius shrugs and takes a deep breath.

"First of all I didn't tell Snape but it _was_ my fault. Regulus was asking around about werewolves and the slimy little shit figured it out on his own. He said he was going to tell everyone what he knew."

"He would never have actually done it," says Lily quickly.

Both of them look at her incredulously.

"Lily, the man's besotted with you and he can still barely be civil. Think what he could do to somebody he hates as much as Remus."

"He's not besotted with me Sirius for goodness' sake-"

"Let's not get sidetracked by the grotesque notion of Snape's secret desires," he cuts in slightly desperately. "I panicked and I made the slightly rash decision to goad him into getting proof. I told him how to get into the shack but I didn't tell him we'd only dared to do it because we were animagi. I figured that he would have to keep his mouth shut without proof or he would die trying to get it. For about ten minutes I honestly couldn't have cared less which of those two things happened. Then I realised what an idiot I was and ran for Prongs and the rest is history."

"Well I am relieved to learn you never really wanted to harm Severus," says Lily primly.

Sirius grins.

"Hardly. I just realised that inadvertently mauling Snivellus to death would probably traumatise Moony in the long run."

"And so," adds James, "Sirius abandoned the greater good for the sake of his beloved."

Lily ignores their snickers and fixes him with a stern gaze.

"And Matthew Smart?"

"No excuse. I told myself that if Remus was openly seeing boys at school it might get back to my family, but really I was just jealous."

"Remus never seemed that interested in him, to be fair."

"Were you?" asks Lily. "Interested I mean."

"He was my first," Sirius admits, ignoring James' smirk. "It was mostly just embarrassing - it was almost a relief when he went to violin school and I didn't have to face him again."

"Ah..." says Lily.

"I wonder what he's doing now," says James.

"Actually...." Lily's cheeks are red. "That concert Remus went to tonight - the one at the Wigmore Hall..."

"Matthew...?"

"With his string quartet I think," says Lily. "Remus told me about it a while ago and I might have...invited them along."

"Are they an item?" James asks.

Sirius pales as Lily shrugs.

"No idea."

"So maybe _yes?_ "

"I need to leave," says Sirius abruptly. "Couple or not, if I see them together tonight I'll end up setting something on fire."

He tries to grin and stands up shakily, but Lily is biting her lip.

"I think they've just arrived," she says, dismayed. "And they're ah...currently blocking the only way out with all their instruments. Oh Sirius I'm sorry! I've bollocksed everything up!"

He looks across the bar to the door where, sure enough, a gaggle of musicians are causing a stir by attempting to push their way through to the bar with an assortment of instrument cases.  
Remus is among them wearing an inadequate scarf, his cheeks pink from the cold. And leaning on his shoulder whispering what is apparently the most interesting and hilarious thing Remus has ever heard into his ear, is Matthew Smart.

Sirius feels Lily and James looking at him and tries to appear less crestfallen than he feels, but he has never been much good at hiding things. Walburga made no secret of the fact that she found him absurdly emotional. She once used the term 'effeminately needy,' and it still haunts him from time to time.

"Mate-" James begins, clapping him on the arm, but he doesn't get any further because Remus and Matthew have seen them and are making their way towards their table.

He has to admit that Matthew has turned out well. He is still wearing his evening suit from the concert and it fits him handsomely, accentuating the broadness across his shoulders. He's tall too, roughly of a height with Remus and it means that Sirius has to look up to meet his eye when he shakes his hand.

"It's been a while, Black," he says, his mouth quirking.

Sirius gives him what he hopes is a cryptic half smile before glancing at Remus who is being studiously unaware of any potential awkwardness.

The concert, it seems was a tremendous success. A live broadcast for muggle radio and a standing ovation. Remus practically swoons when he recounts how they played his beloved Schubert and Sirius has nearly finished his wine by the time he finishes enthusing about it.

"So leaving Hogwarts was the right thing for you?" James asks leaning back, naturally breezing into Head Boy Mode. Sirius takes an amused sidelong glance at Remus and finds him already returning the look, masking a grin by pretending to scratch his nose. Even Lily rolls her eyes as James continues, oblivious. "We all thought you were bonkers at the time."

Matthew smiles and rests his hand unconsciously on his violin case.

"It was the right thing for me, but it shouldn't have been necessary. Music is hardly something that's only for muggles and Hogwarts is easily the best school in the country so why isn't it an option to study it there? It's absurd. Until it changes, the Wizarding world will have to continue to make do with crap like the Weird Sisters."

Sirius thinks that the way things are going, the Weird Sisters will be the very least of their worries, but these days he is on occasion able to keep his mouth shut.

"Mozart was a wizard actually," he offers instead as they all turn to look at him.

"Bollocks," says James.

"No really. His mother was from a branch of my f- a branch of the Blacks. They disowned her when she married a muggle, but both of her children were born with magic."

"You're related to Mozart?" Remus looks at him skeptically, direct in the face, but there is the hint of a smile around the corner of his mouth. Sirius holds his nerve enough to meet his eye and finds it causes his knees to tremble a little under the table. It's intolerable. The whole horrendous situation is ridiculous.

"Yes," he carries on determinedly. "Through a great aunt on Orion's side." He is certain of this; Walburga made him memorise the whole tree when he was nine.

His friends obviously think this is one of his tall tales, but Matthew seems quite taken with the notion.

"There are allusions to magic in some of his works," Matthew adds excitedly. "And the fact that he died in poverty in spite of being one of the greatest musical geniuses to ever live. It all makes sense that he was on the wrong side of those lunatics..." He stops them and reddens. "Sorry Sirius I wasn't thinking."

"It's alright," he smiles grimly. "I'm on the wrong side of those 'lunatics' myself."

He doesn't want to think about that right now, it's too tied up with Moony and everything they have been discussing, but he is also reminded that he's going to have to decide what to do about Uncle Alphard's money at some point. If he wants to claim it they will make jumping through the appropriate hoops as excruciating and awful as they possibly can, but fighting a war with a sideline in Auror training does not exactly put food on the table. He can't stay on Remus' couch forever-though he was rather hoping there might be a different solution to that particular problem...

"I think the rest of the quartet have found space over in the corner," says Matthew, placing a hand protectively on Remus' shoulder in a gesture that makes Padfoot's hair stand on end. "Can you folks spare him for the evening?"

Remus' eyes seek out his, almost as if to check for permission, and he tries to dampen down the little flame of hope that stirs in his chest.

"We'll manage," he says casually, pouring himself another glass of wine and avoiding his gaze. "Just have him back at a reasonable hour and make sure he eats his sprouts."

"And don't let him drink whisky," James adds. "You know how he gets; the random acts of violence, the singing..."

"Thank you loyal friends," says Remus dryly as Matthew laughs and ushers him away.

Sirius watches the pair of them disappear into the crowd before he tops up his glass.

"That was unusually restrained." Lily's tone is arch, but she moves her chair closer and leans into him sympathetically.

"Murdering Matthew Smart won't make Moony love me," he mutters into his glass. "Will it?" he adds hopefully. Lily chuckles and puts her arm around him.

"He would never choose Matthew over one of us!" says James. "Tell him how you feel!"

"One of us?!" Lily looks up to give her fiancé an indignant look. "What do you think we are discussing here James Potter- marauding with benefits?"

Sirius snorts and inhales some of his wine. It might actually be preferable to drinking the stuff.

"I just mean that Remus is bound to choose Padfoot over some bloke he barely knows," James says in an injured tone.

"And what about what's best for Remus?"

"Sirius is best for Remus!"

"Am I?"

They both look at him.

"Lily's right, I'm hardly his best option."

Why should anyone give up a man like Matthew for somebody that even the Blacks have rejected.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," he tries to smile, "but it is true that I attract trouble like...what did she say again?"

"Like flies to a cowpat," says James. "That was just McGonagall's way of saying she cares."

Sirius smiles weakly.

"I think I should head home," he says. "I want to be asleep by the time they get back and start shagging."

James will know that's a lie, but he needs to get outside, clear his head a bit.

Lily kisses him on the cheek.

"Just for the record," she says, "I think you'd be anybody's best option."

He raises an eyebrow. "Well Evans, you know my door is always open..."

Lily rolls her eyes and stands. He loves Lily, but it's James who knows him best.

"I'm braving Moony's freezing flat to honour you with a visit tomorrow," he says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't do anything too stupid between now and then."

-

The problem is that doing something stupid is the only thing that will help at the moment. He loses track of how long he walks for. He keeps the the busy areas at first. It's strangely calming to be around people yet detached from the Saturday night scrum, but eventually the his thoughts begin to make him feel claustrophobic. Needing a better distraction urgently, he picks up a guy by the chip shop and has unzipped the poor bloke's jeans before he realises he can't go through with it.  
Angry words echo after him as he hurries away.

"Fucking tease!"

Sirius half runs until he is sure he is alone, then stops against the wall. He feels its coldness against his back as a sort of centering but the awful restlessness remains.

He should never have convinced James that their boring stammering roommate had 'potential'. He should have let the scrawny little drip live behind the wall he had built for himself, let the older boys torment him all they wished. Anything had to be better than discovering all these years later that the luminous intoxicating realness of Remus Lupin had slowly become the guiding force behind his every waking decision like some kind of exquisite insufferable moral fucking compass.

In the end he goes back to the flat. He probably won't even be able to score any muggle potions without Remus' disappointed face haunting wherever his intoxicated mind might go. He arrives home before midnight anxious, out of sorts and worryingly sober.

He can see the light is on through the crack at the bottom of the front door. He considers turning around, steels himself and turns the key in the lock.

Remus is reading in the arm chair, pink faced from the bath, hair still wet and just starting to curl. He raises his eyes from the page and smiles.

"Where's Matthew Smart?"

"Hoping history might repeat itself?" There is only amusement in his voice, but Sirius still flinches.

"No! Merlin I just thought...never mind." He's pacing. It's partly nervous energy, partly a means of dealing with the cold.

"There was a party at Wim the 'cello player's house. I didn't last very long."

That sounds likely enough. Remus is terrible at parties.

There's a droplet of water in Remus' hair about to plop onto his lightly freckled nose. Sirius realises that he is staring.

"So you and Matthew didn't..."

Remus drops his eyes back to his book and the drip misses his face and splatters onto the page.

"No."

"But I suppose you've..."

"No."

The sofa still has his bedding on it. The nice woman upstairs has two grown up daughters and linen to spare, though most of it is pink and this current duvet cover depicts a large pink and white striped cat. He always tries to fold it out of the way in the morning but he's fairly certain Remus refolds properly it in secret. He moves it to one side and sprawls over the part nearest to Remus' chair.

"Are you at a good bit?"

Remus looks up from his book half irritated, half amused.

"Henchard has challenged Farfrae to a fight to the death."

"The wife selling guy?"

"The same."

Sirius springs from the sofa to the floor at Remus' feet, resting his arms on his knees so he can bend round and read too. The proximity makes him giddy. This, in fact, is exactly the sort of thing he vowed to stop doing about forty five minutes ago.

"Who wins?"

"I'm not sure I'll ever find out at this rate."

Sirius reaches to turn the page and his fingers brush Remus' wrist. He slows for a moment and leaves them there a little too long. Remus exhales and turns the page himself, breaking contact.

"Moony..." he begins, before realising that nothing will be achieved sensibly while he is still sitting so close. He leaps up and resumes his pacing at a safe distance, hands in his pockets.

"Moony I think I should move out."

Remus puts his book down.

"I understand," he says after a beat. "This isn't what you're used to. It's so far from James and Lily...."

"Isn't what I'm used to?"

"Well it isn't is it? Not at Hogwarts, not at James' and not at Grimmauld Place either I'll wager."

That stings a bit, though it's true enough there isn't a dungeon he can be locked in for a fortnight for saying he can name a dozen muggle born witches more intelligent than Regulus.

The thought obviously shows on his face because Remus checks himself with a sigh and bites his lip.

"I just mean that I've always been poor, Sirius." Remus never calls him Padfoot when they are alone. "I wouldn't expect you to find living here easy."

"But I'm poor now too. I have a second hand duvet with Puss Bag on the front and it's the best thing I own."

Remus gives a frustrated huff but his lips are twitching. How his intention to declare his ardent love has turned into a discussion about duvet covers he isn't sure. He always loses his way talking to Remus. Perhaps it's because he'll drop anything to make the corners of his mouth turn up like that.

"I think you mean _Bagpuss._ And you won't be poor once you get Alphard's money sorted. I just don't want you to stay here out of some...misplaced sense of duty. And don't say it isn't - I don't know anyone who would tolerate this place unless they absolutely had to."

Sirius opens and closes his mouth, unsure of where to begin and Remus stands, taking his silence for confirmation.

"I'll make some tea."

The kitchen is one of those awful galley things, barely wide enough for one with a wooden rack suspended from the roof by a pulley system. Remus tends to dry his clothes on it (and Sirius' when he can get his hands on them), and the kitchen is seems constantly to be overhung with a forest of shirts and robes and underpants. It's even colder in here and he can see Remus' breath billowing out against the light from the kitchen window even with his back to him.

"Moony..."

When he doesn't turn round, Sirius puts a hand on his arm. Remus tries to turn his face away, rubs his eye roughly with the heel of his palm.

"Why are you crying?"

"Just tired."

Sirius tries to clear the tangle of impulses within him, tries to articulate that nobody will ever love or protect him like he does, that he requires nothing in return, but he only succeeds in whispering the words _Matthew fucking Smart_ with a fury that verges on the alarming.

"It's nothing to do with that," Remus says, turning away to pour the milk. "Though I do appreciate your indignation." He hands him a mug of tea and Sirius takes it helplessly.

"So you don't need me to kill him?"

Remus has dried his eyes but he is concentrating on his tea. He is wearing at least three moth-eaten jumpers but he is still shivering a little. It occurs to Sirius then that he will never find the words to explain all of this. They might carry on forever in this way.

"To be honest," Remus is saying, "all he talked about was violin."

Sirius lunges.

Before he has time to think, his lips are pressed against Remus', both hands around his face. The boy freezes for a moment and Sirius is convinced he's made a terrible mistake, but then he relaxes into the kiss with a moan that fills Sirius with warmth. His hands reach into in his hair, and Sirius responds by backing him against the kitchen cabinet to lean into him further, inhaling the smell of soap and tea and ink that he has known so long but never experienced so closely, so keenly before.

Remus kisses are light and sweet, but when Sirius lifts him so he is sitting on the worktop he groans and wraps his legs around him, pulling at his hair with an urgency that drives him wild.

He pulls off two of his jumpers, one after the other, grinning, elated. He reaches for the third, revelling in the absurdity of it all when Remus stops.

"I don't want this."

Sirius feels a little hum in his ears and a familiar terrible panic. He steps back.

"You don't want me."

"I know you, Sirius. You've been to the pub, there's no-one better to hand, somebody else shows a momentary interest in me and here we are. I'm sorry I encouraged it. It was stupid."

This is where he needs to articulate how they have all been wrong about him, how every one night stand he's ever had has been because of Remus. That every stupid thing he has ever done for better or for worse has been to protect him. At least he will know then, even if he doesn't want him.

"So this _is_ about Smart," he says. The wrong words again, and they come out like the ugliest Black family sneer.

Remus makes a sound that could be hurt or disgusted or both and pulls away.

"You can stay here for as long as you want but I won't be a notch on your bedpost. I can't do that."

Sirius exhales raggedly. "Of course not." He doesn't trust himself to say any more.

"Goodnight Padfoot."

The name makes him flinch because it means they are Lupin and Black again, two out of the four; the quiet bookish one and the brash, unhinged, unwanted one. Incomplete.

He stands so long in the dark after Remus leaves that he is no longer sure if he is still in kitchen or in the isolation of his Azkaban cell. It barely matters. He has forgotten the difference between living and remembering, if there ever was one. And when the dementors come he isn't sure if they ever left but he greets them anyway with a laugh that is a sob and he remembers again, everything in bright terrible detail over and over until finally it twists its way to Godric's Hollow and he drowns.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Berlin, 1987

  
Berlin, 1987

He needs to open his eyes.

He needs to open his eyes, get to his feet and run before they catch up with him, but he can't seem to remember how to connect his brain to his body.

He hears himself groan and then somebody drags him upwards by his jacket, or perhaps that happens in the opposite order.

Faces swim into focus, a fair haired witch and wizard and another figure behind. They are in a dark cobbled side street, little chance of anybody coming past, nobody to hear if he calls out.

His captors speak rapidly in german and Remus doesn't quite have the ability to follow what they are saying. He makes a token attempt at struggling from their grip but he is weak and winded and he can't reach his wand while they have hold of his arms.

"Alright, who we got?"

The third person is English and there is something about his scent that makes Remus go cold.

"His partner has escaped," says the woman, "but he has the manuscript in his bag."

"Take it from him."

They remove the satchel easily and empty its contents on to the ground. The girl picks up the book and tucks it into her own bag.

"What is your name?" The blonde man demands. When Remus doesn't respond he hits him on the face.

"Have a look through his stuff," says the third figure. "Might be something worth taking even if it don't tell us much."

"Gloves," says the woman, "chocolate...books-muggle ones- and...ah!"

She hands the bottle to the figure who opens it and sniffs.

"Wolfsbane!" he cries, suddenly animated. He lunges towards him, bottle in hand and now, with a horrifying certainty, Remus realises who this is.

Fenrir Greyback takes hold of him by the chin and sniffs him up and down as he tries not to flinch.

"Who'd have dreamt it? A werewolf working as an establishment sniveller! And one of mine too. You're Lyall Lupin's brat aren't you."

He says nothing, tries to be brave enough to look him in the eye but he is more than afraid; the wolf in him is bending too, cowed by the presence of his pack leader.

"We've got what we need," says the witch who, Remus notices with a sort of detached indignance, has also pocketed his chocolate. "Shall I perform the killing curse?"

Greyback continues to stare at him as Remus draws a ragged breath, heart pounding.

"I don't kill my own," he says finally. He straightens up and unstops the bottle of wolfsbane, emptying its contents on to the cobblestones. "But I'll be getting rid of this piss."

He comes closer again and speaks more softly, just to him.

"You don't belong on their side, boy. You're a coward if you don't accept that."

He lets go of him roughly and Remus drops to the ground.

"Don't kill him," he says to the others. "Just give him a little something to take back to England, and make sure he won't forget it in a hurry."

\-----------

It is some time before Remus is able to pick himself up from the cobblestones. In the end it is the approach of an old woman that forces him to his feet. She wants to call the police and he has to insist and ultimately beg in broken german that she does not. Eventually she shrugs and leaves him be, but she presses a ten mark note into his trembling hands before he can stop her.

There aren't any broken bones, but his ribs feel bruised and one of his eyes is swollen shut. He doesn't have the strength to apparate so he uses the money from the old woman to get on the bus, avoiding the curious looks from the other passengers.

The stench of Greyback is all over him, so dizzyingly, horrifyingly familiar that he can hardly breathe. If he closes his eyes he teeters on the threshold of memories he never knew he had. Absurdly, it is the less painful choice to allow his thoughts to drift to Andromeda and her careless words from earlier:

_Didn't Sirius ever explain to you why he ran away from home?_

He had witnessed every painful, pitiful moment of Sirius’ distancing of himself from his family over their years at school together, or so he had thought. Siriusly had mostly avoided speaking about the subject but had always appeared so achingly open and easy to read that Remus had never imagined that there was any more to know than he could already see with his own eyes.

He can still feel the press of his lips against his face as he murmured: "I don't want you to ever think of them, Moony. I can't help being related to them but they are nothing to do with  _us."_ Remus wonders now if there was not an anxiety, an uncertainty in his face as he pulled away, before he grinned and went on: "Orwith James or Harry or Peter or Lily or Minerva or Mrs Harris or Colin the dog or that barmaid in the White Hart who fancies you..."

He hadn't even thought to question it then, but now it seems so ugly, so clearly a deflection. Another lie swallowed by Remus because he was so desperately grateful for feeling wanted. Yet what possible reason could Sirius have had to tell his family he was a werewolf? And what could that have had to do with his break from the Blacks?

Sirius was undeniably charged with tremendous energy when he returned after that Christmas holiday, but that was exactly what they all expected. Sirius always dealt with any emotional issues by running riot.

For a while he attempted to swap his clipped aristocratic vowels for a hilarious attempt at an East London drawl. James was forced to call an emergency meeting for the three of them, where he banned anyone on pain of death from mentioning or encouraging it, and Peter expressly (if in vain) from mocking him.

Sirius never attempted to conceal the foe's brand from his friends though the first time he'd seen it Remus had almost retched. The idea that one's own parents could use their magic to mutilate and hurt their son in that way was beyond his understanding, though James had confided to him quietly later that he suspected it was barely the tip of the iceberg.

Mostly, Sirius displayed it as a badge of honour, unless his brother was nearby. It was clear the pain was strongest around him, even with the suppressant charm McGonagall had performed on it, but it was much more than that. It was almost never acceptable to mention Regulus in those days.

He remembers the feeling of Sirius' left hand unexpectedly grabbing hold of his wrist during one transfiguration lesson. Regulus had stepped in to deliver a note to McGonagall. He could see the bottom of the brand glowing red hot beneath his friend's shirt sleeve, but Sirius continued to write determinedly with the afflicted hand, even as the fingers of the other dug into Remus' wrist, so hard they left bruises.  
Remus had heard what they were saying about the new Black heir and his allegiances, but Sirius' brother just looked like an unhappy fourteen year old boy to him. His eyes constantly flickered towards his brother, his face picture of anxious misery but Sirius did not look up once. As soon as Regulus was gone he raised his head and stared at Remus as if in shock, letting go of his wrist with a stricken look.

He tried to give him a sympathetic smile, but Sirius only stared.

He was considering what to do next when Sirius suddenly blinked looked at him with alarmingly clear eyes.

"I'm bored Moony," he said.

Before Remus could respond, he proceeded, with an expression of almost beatific certainty, to transfigure every quill on the room into a sparrow until the class was in total chaos. It was a remarkable display of ability, which McGonagall was to recall years later with something close to awe.

Of course it also earned him eleven days of detention. McGonagall ruled that it should take the form of a daily seven mile run through the grounds before breakfast and, although from that day forward Sirius was to refer to her as 'the abominable Scottish bint', it turned out to be exactly what he needed. It was a perfect way of focussing all of his extra energy. It meant that by lunchtime each day he was almost docile and by the time they had eaten dinner he was curled up on the sofa, dozing on one of their shoulders. Remus suspected that McGonagall knew exactly what she was doing all along.

Then there was that first betrayal; the incident with Severus that had seemed to come from nowhere.

It unmoored him. For a few days he couldn't even retreat behind his painstakingly assembled wall of aloofness. The short, sharp pain of it at times made it difficult to breathe, and for a frighteningly long time afterwards he felt wide open and undefended.

He had packed his bags as soon as he was well enough to get out of bed, ready to go home to his parents, ready to hand himself over to a ministry centre for dark creatures. Snape had nearly been killed and soon everyone was going to know why.

Peter sat on him while James unpacked his suitcase. Sirius remained sullenly on his own bed, brooding and drinking firewhisky even though it was two in the afternoon.  
In the days that followed, nobody quite knew what to do with him. Remus found himself unable to say or do anything at all, but James and Peter made their anger clear. It was obvious the matter needed to be brought to a head, but the problem was that they all knew Sirius was incapable of apologising. Even when remorse was so blatantly written into every wildly idiotic thing he did.

He didn't try to speak to Remus at all, but he seemed to be doggedly following him, watching from a distance. He was always somehow nearby, just across the hall, just at the next table.

Snape was unbearable in those first few weeks. In adulthood, Remus would encounter plenty of people who knew his secret and hated him for it, but Snape was the first and, thought he was sworn to secrecy on pain of expulsion, he made things as unpleasant for him as he possibly could. Remus had no reason or inclination to defend himself when the boy pushed him against the wall or spilled ink on his homework or called him a monster. He more or less managed to keep it hidden from the James and Peter, but with Sirius unsubtly following him everywhere he went, Snape often ended up hexed or bleeding anyway.

James was naturally the first to attempt to heal the breach. Though he was loyal to all of them he was lost without his partner in crime. After about a fortnight of terrible silence, he persuaded Sirius to speak to him alone, and whatever he had told him, James seemed satisfied.  
"I don't understand all the ins and outs, Moony," James had said, "but he didn't just do it for a prank. It was egregiously moronic, extremely dangerous and fucking bonkers-classic Pads in fact-but we both know can't have meant to hurt you. Besides, he's going to drive us all up the wall with his silent self flagellation and creepy vigilante protection of your honour if we don't forgive him. He's even started borrowing the cloak to follow you around."

In the end it was easier to let it go. Sirius was clearly sincere in his remorse, and even then Remus was so far gone that he might have forgiven him had he done it purely out of cruelty.

He had loved Sirius before he was old enough to even know what it was.  
From the moment he arrived in his perfectly tailored robes and the ugly, pureblood views sounding the wrong shape in his mouth Remus had simply been more aware of him then he was of other people. They barely spoke in first year, but Remus barely spoke to anyone then. He would watch him in the evenings over the top of his book as his three roommates laughed and bickered before bed. It fascinated him that Sirius could move with such self assured grace, and yet seemed always to be colliding with things. He was like that in life too, at once easily charming and bullishly confrontational.

There was no moment of realisation. It simply became gradually apparent that no girl, no person, would ever intrigue infuriate and delight him the way Sirius did. 

 

\-----------

The bus breaks at his stop with a jerk that nearly knocks him off his feet. The restaurant is only a short walk away but he has to pause twice to steady himself and catch up with the pounding in his head. Everything hurts.

The man on the door tries to turn him away, but fortunately Andromeda has been waiting and marches Remus past him with a haughty glare. There are certain benefits to being brought up a Black.

She has the waiting staff help her take him to a room at the back, explaining to them that Remus has been mugged, and they bring her hot water and fresh towels.

"Shirt off please," she says when they are alone.

Remus stiffens.

"There's no need...really."

It's irrational. She already knows he is a werewolf.

"Lupin, there isn't time to be a shrinking violet. You're bleeding. I'm not going to ask again."

He knows it's a hideous sight, his back and torso are twisted with the scars from more than twenty years of full moons in addition to his current injuries, but Andromeda Tonks is far too well brought up to notice.

"There's bruising," her voice is relieved as she dabs at the grazing between his shoulder blades, "but most of the blood is from your face. I don't think your nose is broken."

"James broke my nose once, when we were at school," he tells her, without really knowing why.

She gives a little hum of amusement as she works, indulging him.

"I dare say you deserved it."

She stands up to check the door is closed and then she pulls out her wand.

"They'll notice if you heal me too much," he protests, but she simply ignores him and begins to work.

"Are you always this reluctant to be helped, young man?"

She treats his eye last. It's too much to heal in one go but she brings the swelling down and his vision clears somewhat. When she is done, she uses a cleaning charm for his shirt and hands it back to him.

"Now," she says, once his is dressed. "Would you care to explain what on earth happened?"

Remus shifts painfully.

"They were waiting for us outside the shop-"

"Who was waiting? Death eaters? Bandits? Last time I checked the dark lord was dead!"

He shakes his head.

"I don't know why they were there. I'm sorry I put you in danger."

"I don't give a goblin's tit about danger Remus Lupin. I nearly lost my husband in the war and we have a half-blood daughter. I need to understand what is coming and I need to know what I can do to help stop it."

What is there to say? That Dumbledore thinks Voldemort will return? That, while Dumbledore only ever tells him what he has to, and even Dumbledore is feeling his way in the dark, Remus can also sense that something is happening, that something will happen.  
He tells her what he can. He also tells her about earlier, even about Greyback. She takes his hand when he tells her that part, and the kindness of it causes tears to spring to his eyes which she is, of course, polite enough to ignore.

"So now they have our manuscript," she says softly when he has finished. "Can we find them, take it back?"

Remus shakes his head.

"No point."

"But -"

"Unless you want to retrieve an anthology of popular eighteenth century wizard's yodelling songs, I would leave them to it."

Andromeda's dark eyes widen in realisation.

"You switched them! But how?"

He grins.

"With cunning and genius. While we were in the tunnel."

"Lupin dear really, you were wasted in Gruffindor! But where is the original?"

He smiles at her, and lets her figure it out.

"You planted it on me before I apparated."

"In your coat pocket."

She reaches in and draws out the little bag where the miniaturised manuscript is contained.

"You, old chap, are what Ted would call a bloody marvel!" She reaches over and kisses him on the cheek. "Now how about that gin?"

\-----------

The both quickly discover that they are ravenous. Andromeda has the waiting staff find them a quiet table, tucked away in the corner of the restaurant.

"I may as well eat now," she says with a wry smile, "as I expect there will only be burnt sausages waiting at home, soaked in the tears of my husband's failure."

Remus guffaws and nearly loses his bread roll in the process. Sirius always spoke of Andromeda fondly, but he would never have guessed that that such a warm, funny person lay beneath her immaculate exterior.

Andromeda talks mostly about Ted and her daughter. She is a Huffelpuff like her father and, it seems, something of a handful. Remus can actually remember when Sirius received the news that she had ben born. James had said: "NymphO-dora?!" With such a horrified look that all four of them had doubled over with laughter until Sirius decided it wasn't funny any more and used a tickling hex on James until he apologised for 'lowering the tone'.

He keeps that particular anecdote to himself and instead tells her about the places he has seen on his travels, the people he has met. For once it is easy, enjoyable even.

"Remus, will you come and visit Ted and I?" she asks suddenly. "We would so love to have you round for dinner."

He flushes. He's flustered, but it causes a faint warm glow in his belly too.

"I...I would love to. Perhaps I can have a go on the barbequeue...."

"Would next Thursday be convenient?"

And with that, the warm feeling ebbs away.

"Thursday is a full moon."

"Of course it is, how stupid of me." They are silent for a moment. Remus keeps his eyes focussed on his plate. Lycanthropy is hardly suitable dinner table conversation, but he didn't want her to think he was making excuses either. He wishes he didn't want to visit them quite so badly.

"Another night then. You said they poured away your wolfsbane. Do you have any more?"

"It has to be brewed freshly to order."

"Can it be ordered in time?"

He shakes his head. The truth is, he can't afford to order more. It is nearly twice as expensive at short notice.

"What will you do?"

"It's only one month," he says, smiling tightly. "It isn't so bad."

If he has to take a few days to recover like he did last time he went without, he will likely lose his job again, which will make it difficult to purchase next month's potion too. But that is hardly suitable dinner table conversation either.

"If there is anything I can do..."

Become an animagus, he thinks idly, or bring back James and Peter, find a cure...

"That's kind, but I'll be fine. Really."

He is going to change the subject, but he can tell by her face that she has decided it is time to discuss what happened earlier.

"I'm sorry for what I said in the library. My mouth runs away with me sometimes. I did not mean to pain you by speaking of my family, but now I've gone and done it, I feel I should explain."

His mouth feels dry as he nods.

"First of all, I think I ought to...apologise." It's the first time she has looked truly uncomfortable. "I know you had the misfortune of...ah...getting to know my sister Bellatrix after the war."

He sees the resemblance then for the first time and shudders; those gracefully sculpted cheekbones, the dark eyes. It doesn't do to think of that time.

"You are not her."

"You are kind to say so, but she is my sister, whether or not I belong in that family any more. Sirius understood what it was to fear what is running through your own veins. I know exactly what she is capable of."

"You are not like Sirius either."

"Aren't I?"

He pours them some more wine. He means to use the time to collect his thoughts, but he wonders instead if Sirius has ever spoken with his cousin in Azkaban, if she has ever told Sirius what they did to him.

"Is that how you knew I was a werewolf? Because I was placed in the care of your charming sister?"

She smiles grimly.

"That only confirmed what I had long suspected."

"So he did tell them."

"No. As far as I'm aware, Sirius never breathed a word about you to the Blacks. However, when he broke with them, 'Cissa said the family were trying to ascertain if he had ever been known to keep company with werewolves."

Remus opens and closes his mouth.

"The Blacks were so desperate for information, that they risked the scandal and asked the lower family branches for assistance too. It seemed they believed that the information might somehow help them to bring Sirius to heel. Luckily for you, nobody ever dreamed of looking at Hogwarts. I rather fear they meant to do you harm."

"But...why?"

"I should think that would be obvious: because you stood in the way of Sirius marrying and producing an heir."

Remus drops his knife and it lands halfway between his plate and the table with a clatter.

"But...I didn't...I mean Sirius and I...it was only after we left school...and how could they have known what they were looking for if he didn't tell them?"

"'Cissa suspected that they visited a dream reader."

Remus blinks.

"They did what?"

Andromeda seems older when she speaks of her former family. Her expression is weary and drawn and she shakes her head as if attempting to dispel unpleasant thoughts and takes a long sip from her wine.

"It sounds absurd I know. Nightmarish. But I know what his mother and father were like? Far worse than mine and they produced Bella. I watched Sirius suffer and fight his way through his entire childhood...the things they used to do...I have no doubt they found out he cared for you and tried to use it to manipulate him."

"But he didn't care for me. He didn't care for any of us."

It comes out with more force than he intended and an elderly couple at the next table stop eating and turn round. His face grows hot as he dashes away the tears that spring into his eyes and he hates himself for it. He wonders if he will ever be stronger than this. After so many years it doesn't seem likely.

Andromeda bites her lip.

"I loved him too, Remus. Sirius was the only blood relative I had. He came to see us, before Ted went into hiding and he told me then that you were living together. He said he wanted us to meet you. Why would he do that if he didn't-"

"I don't know."

"He broke with his family to protect you from them."

"He killed everyone I cared about and left me at his family's mercy."

"I'm sorry." She takes a handkerchief from her bag and dabs at her eyes. "It wasn't fair of me to ask. I suppose I was hoping you might be able to help me understand."

He waits until his heartbeat returns to normal. None of this is her fault.

"Would that I could," he says, surprising himself by reaching over and taking her hand. "I've been over every possibility a thousand times, but the fact remains: Sirius was secret keeper and we both know he never did anything he didn't want to do. He betrayed them and he did it willingly."

There is a pause.

"You're right. Thank you for speaking of these things with me. It helps a little, I think."

It has helped him too, he realises. It is such a relief to feel as if he isn't entirely alone.

Andromeda closes her eyes for a moment, and then smiles.

"Anyway, besides all that I'm so very glad I met you, Remus Lupin. Even if Sirius hadn't turned out the way he did, you would still have been far too good for him."

\-----------

He gets back late to his little cottage to find that that part of the roof has fallen in. The late summer rain is hurling itself directly on to his bed, and clearly has been for some time.

Remus closes the bedroom door makes a cup of tea.

\-----------

He is woken up the next morning by a thumping at his window. He eases himself painfully from the sofa and opens the shutters. A majestic white owl dumps a package into the kitchen sink and flies away with a haughty hoot before Remus can even offer him some food.

Inside is a bottle and a letter.

_Dear Remus,_

_Ted managed to call in some favours and wangle some wolfsbane out of Severus Snape - do you remember him from school? He is potions master at Hogwarts now so I would hope he knows what he is doing... (Don't worry - he doesn't know it's for you!!)  
It was a pleasure to meet you and unless you have an adequate excuse, I insist that you visit us the Tuesday after the next full moon. Do let us know! I promise I won't let Ted do the cooking._

_Andromeda_

 

\-------------

Crouch End, London, 1988

Nymphadora Tonks is fifteen years old; an explosively unpredictable muddle of intelligence and pig-headedness and curiosity and fury and compassion growing by the day into one of the most beautiful humans Remus has ever met.

He's a fairly regular visitor to the Tonks' roomy London abode these days, and he's seen a lot of Dora with her NEWTS coming up next term. Remus is certain she doesn't need any help to succeed, but Andromeda does not think much of the current defence teacher at Hogwarts and appears to have a rather unrealistic impression of his own abilities in the subject.

Still, he can't deny how much he is enjoying it. He loves the kitchen at this time of day, the quiet of the late afternoon light as it lends the back garden one brief, final glow. He can see Ted laying traps for the gnomes at the far end of the lawn, hears the faint jangle of the radio playing next to him and he can almost almost pretend that he belongs here.

"There's a third way to avoid Nimue's Curse," he says, "though it's less reliable. Can you guess?"

Dora's hair reverts back to her natural brown when she's concentrating so the bright pink that's spreading from her roots probably means cheek. So does the grin.

"Don't trust beautiful ladies beckoning you into trees?"

"I concede that advice would have been useful to Merlin," he says drolly. "But think about it: ancient pagan magic, none of the modern filters or refinements..."

"You can't mean divination."

Her incredulity makes him laugh.

"I absolutely mean divination. Tea leaves, palmistry, dreams...older magic is much more difficult to confine to one stream so if somebody is trying to use it on you it tends to leave a more discernible trace. It sort of leaks out of you."

"Lovely," says Nymphadora with a wickedly demure smile reminiscent of her mother.

Remus clears his throat.

"So how are you at prophesies?"

"No worse than Professor Trelawney," the girl mutters darkly. Remus fails to conceal a grin.

"I felt the same about divination at school," he says. "Too...well...unpredictable to be very satisfying. But there are those with a real gift -"

"You've met one?

Remus thinks of a man he knew once, who's gift could only be described as remarkable and yet...

"Well there is always a margin for error," he ventures as the girl raises an eyebrow. He catches her eye as she does it and they both smile. He loves teaching, he thinks, and he dares to believe that he might even quite good at it.

She studies her parchment and makes a few more notes.

"I did well in palmistry actually," she says, still looking down. When she raises her eyes again there is something uncertain about her expression, a self consciousness that is noticeable because it looks so odd on her.

She reaches over the table and hesitates for a split second before she takes his hand. Remus freezes.

"Your lifeline is a little on the short side, but your love line -"

He pulls his hand away gently, tries not to be obvious about glancing out if the window to check her father isn't watching,

"Shorter still I expect," he says, far too jovially.

Dora looks crestfallen and two spots of pink appear on her cheeks, but this can't possibly be what it seems to be. Mere moments ago he was congratulating himself on his excellent teaching skills and yet here he is gormlessly, hopelessly at a loss. After a moment that feels like an age, he stands awkwardly.

"Well I suppose that's enough for today."

"This is our last lesson before I go back to Hogwarts."

There's a hint of reproach in her voice, which he ignores. He can survive this. Nobody is better at not addressing problems than Remus Lupin. He can pretend for a lifetime if necessary.  
  
"I hope they've been useful," he grins desperately.

"I'm deeply in love with you."

Remus rubs his nose as the silence he is required to fill expands and expands. Oh god. Oh godilly god.

Eventually, he croaks out a pathetic: "Deeply...?"

There is a chapter about this type of emergency in Forsythe's Practical Teaching for the Modern Magical, but none of it seems quite right for Dora. She's too intelligent, too sensitive, too _Dora_ to be fobbed off with those platitudes. He tries one anyway.

"I'm old enough to be your -"

"You are _not_ old enough to be my father. You were barely twelve when I was born."

"True. But -"

"You think that I'm a child. You think this is just an infatuation."

"Yes."

She balks a little at his bluntness. Her eyes shine with tears but she looks at him directly in the face, her chin tilted defiantly. Fifteen and already terrifying; the girl is clearly a Black regardless of her name.

"You're wrong. And one day you will know it."

He sits. Breathes.

"Dora...trust me when I tell you I'm not worth your time."

"You don't think you're worth anyone's time. Just because you're a werewolf you -"

She stops when she sees his face, puts a hand over her mouth.

"Your parents told you?"

Somehow he doubts it. Andromeda was too polite to even tell her husband. The third time he visited she leant over to fill his glass and said:

"Might I tell Ted the reason you can't join us on the twenty seventh?"

He had coughed and reddened and said yes if she liked and when she told him Ted had raised his eyebrows a little and shared a glance with his wife and then said:

"Must be a bit of a pain, mate."

Besides, Dora looks indignant at the suggestion.

"Of course not, but it was hardly difficult to figure it out. Mum bad mouths anyone who misses bridge night and you've missed loads but you're still her favourite. And sometimes you look so tired close to the full moon..."

Remus stands up and fills his tea cup with water from the tap.

"Well, as your defence tutor I suppose I should congratulate you for successfully uncovering a hidden source of dark magic."

"It's not dark magic, Remus, never -"

"It _is_ dark magic." The girl shrinks back a little at his tone. "And if you wish to be a good auror you must never doubt that."

"I don't care," she says, her voice rising. "Even if it is dark magic, being a werewolf doesn't make you -"

" _Nymphadora_!"

The kitchen door swings open, making them both start. Andromeda Tonks is intimidating at the best of times, but Remus has never seen her angry before.

"How dare you speak to our guest in that clumsy ill-bred manner!"

Ted's head appears sheepishly round the kitchen door behind her, just in time for his daughter to leap a up with a sob and run into his arms. He gives him a quick, embarrassed look before he ushers her out.

"Come on love, it's alright."

Her mother watches them coldly until they leave the room and Remus fiddles awkwardly with a hole in the sleeve of his jumper. He can't be angry with Dora, but he is sad that this must be the reason for him losing the Tonks'. Their friendship has done more for him this past year than anything since the war.

"I should be -"

"Can I interest you in something restorative?"

Andromeda turns then and he sees, relief flooding him, that her expression is wry.

"I...I'm so sorry...I had no idea..."

"Dear sweet man it is _we_ who must apologise."

Andromeda taps her wand and two glasses swoop in from the next room. The potent smell of brandy is a surprisingly welcome one.

"We had hoped to protect you from our wild daughter but I'm afraid our intervention came too late."

"You...wait, what?"

"Ted was supposed to be keeping watch on her from the garden but he became distracted."

"You knew?"

She has the decency to look apologetic.

"Nymphadora is rather lacking in guile. But though she is headstrong, she is rather sensitive. We hoped to spare her feelings and you the awkwardness by keeping an eye on things. However we did not expect her to be as indelicate as to to bring up your lycanthropy. That was inexcusable."

"She didn't mean anything by it. And it was rather clever of her to work it out."

Andromeda takes a sip from her glass.

"A pity she couldn't work out that you prefer the company of men."

He blushes, as he always does around her and shrugs.

"Will she be alright?"

"The only thing that makes absurdities of one's youth tolerable is the fact that they are fleeting. Ted's with her now. He always knows what to say."

Andromeda and Ted were in love by fifteen, he can't help thinking. And by seventeen Andromeda had made the decision to defy her entire family by marrying him.

"They're very close," he says.

Andromeda looks almost regretful then.

"Growing up the way I did, I never learned how to encourage that sort of...whatever it is. She's her father's girl."

"She loves both of you tremendously. And I can't imagine two better parents."

Andromeda squeezes his arm.

"How skilled you are at compliments. I do hope this isn't going to discourage you from visiting us."

Remus takes a long drink from his glass and smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Azkaban

Piecing together what happens after that night in the kitchen is more or less impossible. Sirius has paced his cell, pulled at his hair, scratched Remus' name into the walls over and over trying to summon the faintest glimmer of a reconciliation, but memory is a spectral presence here.

There are several more desperate moments like the one in the kitchen, each easily summoned to his mind because they all end in similar rejection and self loathing. Remus believes that Sirius is only capable of using him, and why for Merlin's sake would he think anything else? There is an excess of energy between them that tends in those days to spill over and sour. Remus is at his most sardonic when vulnerable, and every bitter word lives keen and vivid in his memory.

Sirius knows, he _knows_ that at some point he stops sleeping on the sofa and moves into Remus' creaky, narrow bed - but holding on to the good thoughts in Azkaban is like trying to stay afloat in a whirlpool; the smallest thing can send you spiralling back into the darkness. If a romantic denouement ever occurs between them, Sirius has not once succeeded in recalling it in all the months or years or decades he has been in this place.

Instead, he sifts evidence from the memories he is able to dwell on. God knows there's time enough for it. Dinner places set next to each other in those last fraught evenings at James and Lily's, Remus' annoyance when Sirius promises to send a birthday card from them both and forgets, Remus unconscious after a full moon, curled up in Sirius' Ziggy Stardust t-shirt.

And of course there is the arguing.

Sirius is explosive, quick to forget and thoughtlessly breezy afterwards. Remus holds on to things for days and writes him long letters of explanation that he leaves carefully around the flat for him to find... _Dear Sirius, when you speak to Peter in that way it reminds me how cruel you can be...Dear Sirius, it worries me when I see how little you take care of yourself...Sirius, when you are distant I can't work out what you want from me...Sirius, you have lived in my flat for nine months and in that time you have washed exactly one dish: the one you vomited into after James' stag do..._  
Usually they have him spitting with rage to begin with-nobody can get under his skin like Moony-but if he's honest, this is another thing he likes about this newness between them. The notes speak more keenly than love letters. Nobody has ever worried that he eats too little and drinks too much before. Nobody has ever believed so strongly that he can be better, that he is better than he would have them all think.

Then there is the day Remus doesn't leave a note.

It must happen sometime shortly after they become full members of the Order because they are out on separate missions and Moody never lets the new ones go out together in those early months. Later on there are not enough of them left to allow for that luxury.

He is grateful that they are both at least out at the same time. Nothing is worse than waiting home alone. When Remus is gone, all he can do is sit in Remus' side of the bed and smoke cigarettes beside the neatly folded jumpers and the books and the five or six half empty cups of tea in various stages of decay and try not to think how easily Remus might simply not come back and how the cups of mould will be all he has left of him. And when it's bad- like the night Remus is the one to find what's left of Matthew Smart next to the broken pieces of his violin; a warning to all who betray their magic in favour of unworthy muggle pursuits - Sirius strokes his hair as he retches into the toilet and runs him a bath and turns off the radio when it starts playing Death and the Maiden and whispers uselessly that there is nothing he could have done, that there's nothing anyone could have done.

It's different when it's Remus who stays at home. The first time Sirius sees first hand what Voldemort is really capable of it is a family of five. The death eaters have been so swift that the three of them don't realise at first that they are too late. The two little girls curled up together in the top bunk, their brother on the bottom and their parents next door all appear so tranquil that they might be sleeping.  
Arthur Weasley stands with his head against the frame of the bunk bed and sobs unashamedly until Moody puts an almost gentle hand on his shoulder and tells him he'd better pull himself together or he'll kick his arse back to his poncey ministry job faster than he can blink.  
Sirius, for once glad of the family training he has fought so hard against, carries out his instructions without a word. Back at the flat though, he punches a hole in the front door and when Remus tries to hold him he flinches away, unable to look at him or be near him. Eventually he finishes most of a bottle of firewhisky and they fuck joylessly against the broken door.

It is around two in the morning when Sirius gets back this time. He slots the key into the lock and mutters the charm around it, though it hardly seems useful to have the added magical security when the lock is so old and awkward. It requires exactly the right amount of lifting and pressure before it will snap open. Muggles.

The light is visible from under the door but he isn't sure Remus will be all that pleased to see him after this morning. Still, if he has arrived home first Remus will be up and waiting for him. It's a sort of ritual they honour no matter how annoyed they might be with one another.

It's been an altogether strange night. The lead his team hope might take them to some of Voldemort's most trusted servants turns into a rather anticlimactic round up of youths, some barely older than Regulus. Sirius vaguely knows some of them from school and one, who doesn't completely avoid his flaming hex before he escapes, Sirius is almost certain he recognises as...well Remus should be the one to ask Lily if the slithery git has any marks on his face next time she sees him - aspersions from Sirius or even James will only make her defensive - but they will need to get to the truth quickly, for all their sakes.

He pushes the door open and the creak is exaggerated in the empty silence of the hallway.  
The lamp next to the arm chair is on but there is nobody home. Most of the lighting in the flat is magical but Sirius adores this old muggle contraption with its tatty corduroy shade and tassels and the way the bulb leaves strange burning spots when he closes his eyes. He must have forgotten to switch it off when he left, which is yet another thing that will probably annoy Remus. He has made some rather barbed comments before about something called the 'lecktrick', but Sirius is too embarrassed to admit he doesn't know what that is and so generally makes a point of using the lamp as much as he can. 

Rather at a loss over what to do with himself, Sirius sits and rolls himself a cigarette. Remus is never noisy but the flat feels all wrong without him. It's not like the deathly silences of Grimmauld Place - they are above a fairly bustling kebab shop for a start and Sirius is fairly certain that the couple next door are having some quite athletic sex - but there is a yawning emptiness where Remus should be and Padfoot's senses prickle uneasily.

It doesn't help that he is already feeling a little guilty. He left the house this morning furious, but he has known all along how difficult things are for Moony - particularly now. His mother is gravely ill. The recent full moon has prevented him from going to visit her at the weekend and if he takes any more time off at the restaurant he will lose his job; but the real problem with all that, Sirius thinks as he pours himself a glass of wine to go with the fag, is Remus himself. James has offered countless times to assist him - he's already lending Sirius money until he gets things with Alphard's will sorted out and Merlin knows he can afford it - but Remus simply won't accept any help.  
"It is a temporary solution to a permanent problem," he usually says, which in Sirius' opinion smacks more of stubbornness than common sense. This morning, unable to endure Remus' darkly pensive tea drinking any longer, Sirius makes the mistake of helpfully if somewhat desperately offering to take his place at work for a few days.

Remus' laugh is bitter.

"Marvellous idea. All we need is one month's brewing time for the polyjuice potion and _two_ months for you to master the basic skills required to do the job without getting me sacked."

James describes being on the receiving end of these sporadic displays of acerbic belittling as 'getting lupin-ed'. Remus rarely aims but he never misses and Sirius' response is reflexive and petty.

"Well they're going to get rid of you sooner or later anyway Moony, dear. They always do."

As usual, he regrets his words immediately but in the absence of a means to unsay them he goes back to his toast pretending not to notice Remus' flinch.

The sound of the kebab shop radio seems to rise and fill the silent space between them; a woman's voice sweet and suggestive, the sort of bollocks that James listens to... _yeah riding high on love's true bluish light._..

Remus stands and puts his tea down with purposeful dignity. Then he throws his copy of Ulysses at his head. Sirius can still feel the bump it left now. He prods it gingerly and the stab of pain jolts him out of his thoughts. That's when he notices Remus' jacket on the back of the armchair.

Which means Remus has been home.

He doesn't know whether to be relieved or worried. It's after three in the morning.

He floos headquarters briefly, and speaks to McKinnon who is on the late watch.  
"Lupin clocked off early. They had a false alarm and he was home by nine it says here."

"He wasn't called out again?"

"No love. Though he was in a foul mood when I saw him. What did you do?"

"I am incapable of upsetting anyone as you know," he says as charmingly as one can with their head in a Scottish fireplace and their arse in a damp London flat.

McKinnon snorts.

"Well crucial and compelling as the drama of your love life is Black, I had better keep the floo system free for actual emergencies. I'll send word if I hear from him though."

Sirius sits back on his heels and stares at the flames as they die. If Remus isn't on duty then he isn't likely to be in danger. Most probably he's been called to his mother, though it's unlike him not to leave a note, even if he is still angry. He sighs. His first reflex is to visit the Potters. They are used to him bursting in at all hours, but Lily is visiting her sister while James is on a mission abroad somewhere. None of them know what he is doing but it is clear Dumbledore has chosen his best flyers for the job. They can only speculate.

And that's how he finds himself outside Peter's place at around four o' clock.

Wormtail rents a room in Highgate from a crotchety old witch who lives downstairs. His bedroom is up in he eves, facing the street and surprisingly there is a light on at the window. Sensing that apparating directly into his friend's bedroom might be a little invasive even by his standards, Sirius charms a twig so that it floats up and raps on it.The light goes off and then the window opens slowly.

"Wormtail!"

"Pads what the..."

"Can I come up? I need some company."

The street is so quiet that Sirius can hear Peter swearing under his breath.

"Wait there."

The window shuts and in a moment, Peter opens the front door and steps on to the lawn. He casts a quick silencing charm and then points his wand at Sirius, his face apologetic. Standard practice.

"What did you give me for my birthday in second year?"

"The severed and mummified toe of Mary Queen of Scots. Did I ever tell you it wasn't real?"

Peter relaxes and grins.

"I figured it out."

"And what did we get Prongs that year?"

" _I_ got him a mini quidditch set. You tried to woo him a mermaid and got your arm broken in the process."

"She did scream so," smiles Sirius in mock reverie. "Is somebody up there with you?"  
Peter stiffens.

"What? No! I mean..."

"Only I've gone and lost Moony. Wondered if you'd seen him?"

"Is he on duty?"

"Was. And now he's gone."

"What did you do this time?"

"Everyone keeps asking me that. If you must know, he threw a giant modernist novel at my head. Could have ruined my face. Look - can I come up for a bit. We can sleep if you want. No spooning I promise."

"Actually..." Peter is nervous again, his nose twitches and his eyes dart rapidly from Sirius and back to the window.

"There _is_ somebody up there!"

"It's a girl!" Peter almost squeaks.

"What girl? Lily?"

"No Padfoot. A _girl_ girl."

Well that explains the twitchiness, he supposes. Though he has never known Pete to be secretive about that sort of thing before. If anything the opposite.

"Ah. Sorry mate I didn't realise. Anyone I know?"

Peter grins.

"That would be telling. But listen, if Remus isn't there he will have gone home to his folks. We all know how sick his mum is. Come round in the morning if he doesn't turn up ok?"

"I will. Thanks Pete and ah sorry for interrupting you, you know _in the act._ "

Miles and years away, the shambling shadow Sirius curses himself for the things he misses that night. Not least the fact that despite being caught 'in the act', Peter is fully clothed.

But this Sirius only claps his friend in the back and heads for home.

  
\---

  
Lyall Lupin's face appears in the floo at around a quarter to seven. Sirius has dozed off again and the old pink duvet has slipped from around his shoulders so that he awakens shivering and momentarily bewildered.

"That you, Sirius lad?"

He almost trips over the coffee table in his haste to get to the fireplace.

"Yessir! Is Remus with you?"

Lyall looks weary and drawn and it strikes Sirius that he resembles his son more now than he ever has before.

"We owled him first thing yesterday morning. His mother..." he clears his throat gruffly, "She hasn't much time. We both need him here."

Dread fills him up slowly, a coldness that spreads outwards from his belly. Remus' father is looking at him expectantly.

"He's not been home sir, but I'll - I'll find him. If he got your owl then I know he will be on his way."

A voice calls faintly from the floo and Lyall turns to it, leaving the fireplace momentarily empty.

"I have to go to her," he says when he reappears. "You'll send him to us if you can?"

"Of course. And Mr Lupin - please convey my sincerest good wishes to your wife."

Remus' father nods once and is gone.

Sirius stands painfully and rubs his eyes. _Convey my sincerest wishes_...Trust him to revert to the slick, insincere manners of his upbringing at a time like this. Mrs Lupin deserves better from him. Hope Lupin who looks him up and down smilingly the first time she meets him as a boy at King's Cross Station and says "So _you're_ Sirius Black," in a way that makes Lupin start and push the luggage trolley with a renewed urgency. Hope Lupin who is frail and barely says a word last time the four of them visit, but who for a moment before he leaves strokes his cheek and looks at him in that same gentle, steady way Moony does and tells him she's glad Remus has him, that she knows they will take care of each other. In spite of the fact that Remus has never said a word to either of his parents about what they are to each other. "It's bad enough that I'm a werewolf," he says. "I think this would finish them off."  
  
Sirius opens the window. It's still quiet and the morning coming into consciousness smells like rain and booze and the fumes from muggle cars. He's thinking about rolling a cigarette when he sees the letter on the windowsill.

It's addressed to Remus.

He tears it open without a second thought. The envelope is small and official looking and is damp enough to have been outside for quite some time. The letter is dated five days ago.

_Dear Mr. Lupin,_

_Thank you for your letter. The advisory board for the welfare of dark creatures has discussed your situation and I regret to inform you that we cannot at this time grant your request to defer your registration for 'family reasons'. Furthermore, as a result of your failure to declare your condition for such a considerable length of time, the board has made the decision to re-categorise your risk level to HIGH and will require you to enter without delay into the custody of the Department for Dark Creatures until a suitable individual can be found to vouch for you (please see paragraph four of the recent Dark Creatures Act for further clarification).  
Failure to respond to these summons by Friday of this week will be interpreted as a wilful refusal to cooperate and we will be obliged to bring you in by force._

_All best wishes,_

_Finnissey Gigglesworth, secretary_

-

  
The first time Sirius goes to the Department for Dark Creatures it lasts about six minutes. There is a young, well coiffured wizard on the front desk who he hates on sight, though he succeeds in keeping hold of himself at least long enough to perform his most elegant pureblood sweep across the foyer.

"I'm here for Remus Lupin. Where is he?"

The wizard looks younger than Sirius himself, clean shaven and spotless.

"I shall require your name, sir."

"Black. Sirius Black. Please have him ready to leave with me promptly."

The wizard opens an enormous tome and studies it unhurriedly, a single finger fastidiously charting his progress while Sirius balls both hands into fists.

"My records show Remus Lupin to be a creature of the darkest sort and in the most dangerous risk bracket. Are you here to vouch for such a creature Mr Black?"

"Yes," he manages, in place of the snarl that curdles the back of his throat. "That is exactly what I am here for."

He ignores the twitch in his hand that itches for his wand and moves closer to the desk so that he is looking pointedly down at the young man. There are a bizarre assortment of objects fixed to the wall behind his head. A string of garlic, a hand held mirror, one of those noisy muggle weapons they have in the televiddle programmes he watches on his afternoons off. Alarm is a crescendoing siren in his brain.

"Then presumably you will have have already paid the fee and completed the necessary paperwork," the young man gives him an oily smile. "Just a reminder that it must already be signed and countersigned by an upstanding, ministry-approved witch or wizard and stamped at our Manchester offices within 36 hours of issue of the original form."

"I don't have a form. I just need to see Remus and-"

"I am afraid it is not possible to consort with a high-risk dark creature without the necessary paperwork."

Sirius leans forward and pulls the man towards him by the front of his robes.

"Tell me where he is now, you slick weasel-faced little gobshite or I will personally show you the exact meaning of the high fucking risk bracket. Do you understand?"

Unfortunately there are rather a lot of highly trained security magicals on site. Not to mention their dogs, who pick up on Padfoot's scent and go what it is probably fair to describe as berserk. Escaping the department in one piece is something of a triumph.

-

The second time his visit is even shorter. To be honest it is rather more a desperate sprint than a visit. He makes it through the iron reinforced double doors and halfway down the corridor before one of the dogs gets him in the arm and somebody hits him with a stunning spell.

He spends that night in the local prison. It's a holiday camp by Azkaban's standards but he can't begin to imagine Azkaban yet and by the time Lily comes to get him the following day he is half out of his mind with worry and guilt without any need for dementors.

She walks back to the flat with him in stoney silence though once they are inside, she at least pulls him in for a rough hug before she bollocks him.

"What the hell were you thinking dashing in like that? Without warning us, without a plan?"

"I just need to get him out. You didn't hear how he spoke about him-"

"A child could have told you it would get you nowhere! Sirius, you're one of the most skilled wizards we have but if you forget how to think when the people you care about are involved, I can't bear to imagine what might happen."

There is something in her face then that Sirius will turn over in his nightmares to come, but for now he slouches and put his hands in his pockets.

"Isn't this bad enough already?"

He knows Lily is too kind to stay annoyed for long. She huffs and pulls him to her again, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before going through to the kitchen to make tea.

"Doesn't have to be," she says as he follows her through, sheepishly picking up a couple of empty glasses he does so and placing them on the sideboard. "I've submitted the paperwork. I even got a glowing recommendation from McGonagal who lied through her teeth and said you were a model student. We'll get this fixed, but with James away the biggest issue is the money."

"Wait a moment. What paperwork? What money?"

She chooses not to look exasperated and heats the teapot with a flick of her wand.

"They won't release Remus until we can provide what they deem a suitable person to take responsibility for him. Somebody to act as a guarantor for the safe management of his condition."

"And obviously that person should be me!"

Lilly passes him a cup of something sweet smelling and steaming and pulls herself up to sit on the kitchen worktop. She sips pensively for a minute.

"Assuming they allow you that after yesterday, can you be sure it won't have an impact on your relationship?"

Sirius frowns for a moment, before realisation dawns.

"You mean this is more than just signing a form?"

"Sirius..." Lily begins, frustrated. She purses her lips and summons a piece of parchment from her handbag to hover in front of his face. "No more questions until you've done the reading."

"What's this?"

"What did I just say?"

"But-"

"And I'll take a cigarette as well please."

"But you don't-"

"Quiet. Three days of Petunia and now this. It's the least you can do."

Sirius pulls the cigarette gingerly from his jeans pocket and hands it to her before unfolding the parchment. It's a standard ministry issued pamphlet headed: _'The dark creature and YOU: A guide to safe and harmonious existence alongside lycanthropes, giants and other beings of dark magic,'_ with a picture of three gratingly cheerful, generically clothed witches and wizards beneath.  
  
' _Dark creatures are all around us,_ ' it begins, _'and they aren't always easy to spot. While many wish only to live peacefully amongst us, it is vital to be able to recognise the SIGNS to ensure both YOUR safety and THEIRS.'_

"You've got to be joking," says Sirius.

"Skip to page four."

He obeys. He is starting to sweat.

' _Werewolves in the community,'_ he reads.

_'Lycanthropy is a terrible curse that can affect both magicals and muggles. While some lycanthropes (commonly known as werewolves) can become feral and dangerous, many only show symptoms during the full moon.'_

Lily ignores his profanities and smokes demurely, tipping ash now and then into the sink beside her. He skips the next section: _'Top ten signs your neighbour/colleague is a werewolf' ,_ he became an expert in that aged twelve, and turns to the next page.

_'Vouching for a Dark Creature.  
All werewolves have been required to register with the Ministry of Magic since the fourth Dark Creatures Act of 1936, but as of this April, those found to be of higher risk to the community will also be required to provide a 'vouch', namely an upstanding member of the magical community willing to act as guarantor for their good character and the security of their transformations._

_The witches or wizards in question must have a steady income and permanent residence registered with the Ministry. They may not be a relative or spouse, nor may they be muggle born.'_

Sirius feels sick.

_'A simple spell based on reliable ancient magic will bind them to the werewolf, allowing them to locate him at all times and to summon him if necessary.'_

"It's...it's slave magic..." His voice is hoarse. "How has this been allowed?"

"Turns out they rushed the legislation through after the first reports of the werewolves recruited by Voldemort came out. It was lost amongst all the scaremongering. Didn't Remus mention it at all?"

Sirius snorts.

"Moony is excessively forthcoming about this sort of thing as you know."

He glances down again to the last sentence on the page.

'Those wishing to vouch for a lycanthrope must also be prepared to pay the total sum of-'

Sirius spits his tea across the kitchen.

" _Three HUNDRED galleons?!"_

"Like I said, problematic."

"How by the sagging tits of Morgan le Fey do they justify that sort of money?"

Lily shrugs.

"How do they justify any of it? It's barbaric. But we aren't going to get Remus back without playing along."

The pamphlet makes a hissing noise and then bursts into flames, forcing him to drop it in the sink. He hasn't done that since he was still the Black heir. Back then it was usually napkins or formal invitations.

"We could ask-"

"I went to Dumbledore last night. He's already blacklisted by the department. They won't accept any money traceable to him either. If I had access to James' family vault it would be fine, but there's a charm from hundreds of years ago that prevents muggle borns - he's tried to lift it of course but..."

"I've got next month's rent and about enough for a meal at the three broomsticks. I won't be able to prise Alphard's money from the Blacks for another three months, even if I do everything they want."  
The Lupins are even poorer than me. And they've spent all of their savings on Mrs Lupin's treatment. Besides Remus won't want them to know."

"I've around fifty in savings and Peter says he has seventy."  
  
Sirius feels his head begin to throb. He's never felt this powerlessness over money before. Even since being disinherited he has never wanted for anything. But now the tightness he sees from time to time on Remus' face when he is between jobs or when he can't repair his shoes any more seems slightly more real.

"We'll figure it out. I promise."

Sirius nods and wishes he believed her.

-

The third time Sirius visits the Department for Dark Creatures he is wearing his best daytime robes, his hair is slicked back and he is flanked by Lily and Peter. It has been four days since he's seen Remus. Lyall floos that morning to tell them Mrs Lupin has died and Lily sobs for all of them and the unfairness of it all, clinging to Sirius as if her life depends on it. She hasn't had any word from James in over two weeks.

There is, thankfully, a different witch on the desk today who barely registers them as they give their names and sit down to wait.

He hasn't slept in days and he knows the constant jogging of his leg is irritating Lily but he can't sit still. She's almost as poorly rested as he is, and he hears her throwing up before they leave the flat too. Nerves. She is the same at sixteen before for her OWLs.

Peter passes a packet of muggle crisps to him after Lily grimaces and declines.

"Smokey bacon," he says, "much better than the flavours we have."

Sirius has his hand awkwardly in the bag when the middle aged witch approaches.

"Mr Black? My name is Grizelda Hew."

He stands hastily and stuffs the crisps in his mouth before wiping his hand on his robes and offering it to her. Shit. Shit on toast.

Grizelda Hew gives him a cold fishy smile and continues to grip her clipboard.

"Your companions will have to wait here Mr Black. Follow me please."

Lily gives him a small urgent nod and Peter flashes an apologetic grin and then he's following the woman through the iron doors and down the corridor.

The room she brings him to is small with a table and chairs and a large darkened window taking up the entirety the back wall. He sits when she motions for him to.

"A few questions, Mr Black. You have applied to act as guarantor for Remus Lupin, halfblood and lycanthrope. Is that correct?"

He nods, not trusting his voice.

"And this is he?"

She flicks her wand towards the glass and it moves and swirls until it is transparent, revealing a brightly lit cell with a solitary figure standing pensively in the middle of it.

He is dressed in the same shirt he was wearing the last time he saw him, but it's dirty and torn. There are four days of stubble on his cheeks and a nasty cut beneath his right eye. His wrists are shackled and he worries at them while he stands there, obviously unaware he is being watched.

"That's him," he manages gruffly, grateful he isn't holding anything flammable.

"Might I confirm what your connection to the werewolf is?"

He glances again through the glass at Remus, who is looking around his cell warily.

"We've been friends for years. And we're also...flatmates at the moment."

"And how long have you known of his condition?"

"Nine years."

"My notes confirm that you have already detailed the precautions taken during his changes. Next then, I am obliged to warn you that Remus Lupin has been judged to be a high risk and volatile individual."

"Remus Lupin whistles Beach Boys songs while he darns his own socks!"  
  
The woman blinks.

"Nevertheless," she says, her expression one of distaste, "he is one of the longest assimilated unregistered cases we have come across. And his attempt to resist and indeed bite the officials sent to lawfully bring him here marks him as particularly unpredictable."

"I see," says Sirius, contemplating the pros and cons of biting Grizelda Hew just to make a point.

Grizelda rings a bell on the wall and though it makes no sound, the door in the adjacent cell swings open, causing Remus to jump as two wizards take take hold of him at the elbows and escort him through the glass window. Their image swirls for a moment and then he is there in the room, real and close enough to touch.

"Sirius! I thought-"

His chest is suddenly tight and, ridiculously, he feels his wand in his breast pocket begin to conjure a patronus unbidden which he barely stops in time. But he knows what's expected here.

"Lupin," he cuts in breezily, "it's good to see you, old boy."

Remus catches on quickly and gives him a tight smile.

"I wondered when you would show up. Run out of clean crockery did you?"

Sirius lets out an obnoxious sounding laugh, and marvels at how natural it feels to inhabit everything he despises. So effortless.

"It had to happen some time. Ms Hew, I'd like for us both to be off as quickly as possible. Can you arrange for somebody to bring Remus' things?"

Grizelda doesn't look up from her clipboard.

"I'm afraid it isn't quite that simple. There is the question of payment-"

"-Yes of course," he interrupts in a tone he learned from his father dining on credit at restaurants, "I've got more than half with me now and I shall send the rest along in a few days."

More than half is stretching it somewhat. Remus is carefully avoiding his eyes.

"I'm afraid we can only release a creature of Remus' risk level with the full guarantee in place. Furthermore, I should inform you there is another guarantor applying to vouch for him. A candidate who has forwarded the entire sum up front and seems, I have to say, to be a wholly more suitable option at this time."

Sirius opens his mouth and shuts it again.

"Actually," Remus begins tentatively, "as I've mentioned before I'd really much rather-"

"You preference is of no consequence." Grizelda Hew is impatient now. "It is for the ministry to decide how best to manage your affliction. We shall of course be in touch once we've made our decision." She motions to the two men and they turn to escort Remus back.

"Who is it then, this other candidate?" James, he is praying, let it be James back in the nick of time. He can be as arrogant as he likes abut it.

"Naturally I cannot disclose that sort of personal information, Mr Black. Now if you would kindly come with me..."

Remus is halfway through the mirror when he pulls against the men holding him for a second and turns to look at him, desperately.

"It's Snape."

One of the men grunts in annoyance and pushes him roughly so that he stumbles forward. The glass parts for a moment as if it is oil and water and then Remus is gone.

  
-

  
Lily and Peter are still seated in the foyer when they throw him out this time, and his escorts don't do him the courtesy of allowing him to stop for them.

They deposit him in a heap on the pavement and he picks himself up furiously and runs at the doors. Naturally, they snap shut in his face so he slams a fist against them for good measure.

"That's a nasty temper, Black. What would your mother say?"

He has the owner of the voice backed against the wall with his wand at his throat in a blink, but Severus Snape only smirks.

"I take this to mean you have not been made guarantor for your werewolf lover."

"I've always thought you were a worthless piece of shit, but it turns out even I gave you too much credit. It takes a truly fucked up individual to use something like this as revenge."

"Still an imbecile I see," he sneers. Sirius' hands are shaking so much that Snape can feel it through the wand at his neck. His face twists into an ugly smile."Did you know the wrist shackles he's wearing turn silver when required? A most novel way of keeping werewolves in line. I believe it's up to the guarantor whether or not they are removed..."

"I'll beg if that's what you want you sick bastard."

"Hardly the traditional way to go about the it..."

Sirius pushes him hard against the wall. He knows this is getting him nowhere.

"Are you going to kill me Black?" he sneers. "Use an... _unforgivable_ perhaps?"

There is the faintest flush across his pale skin...and on his right cheek, the tiniest suggestion of a shimmering scar. A well healed burn _perhaps_ , but it could too easily something else.

Sirius lets out a ragged breath and takes a step back.

"That's a nasty mark you've got there Sev," he says, holding his gaze. "Scorch yourself brewing potions did you?"

Snape's eyes flicker, but before he can respond Lily bursts through the double doors and runs to embrace him.

"Severus!"

He keeps his arms self consciously by his sides as she hugs him, but the creep closes his eyes until she pulls away, savouring it. Peter, who exits the building close behind Lily notices it too and throws Sirius a look but he is too agitated to respond. Adrenaline is still coursing through him.

"I thought you weren't going to come." Lily is a little teary but she is smiling. She can't know what Snape has done. She couldn't...

"I went yesterday," Snape is saying. "It's all arranged but they told me I had to wait until they'd seen the _other applicant_." He shoots a quick derisive glance at Sirius who can only gawp as his brain tries to make sense of things.

"Oh Severus...you have no idea how much this means to all of us."

"You mean...you asked him to do this?"

Lily blushes.

"I knew you would never agree to it if I told you, but our chances were so slim without the money..."

"But Lily...we can't let Remus..."

"Remus just needs to stay with Sev for three days to keep with the regulations, but then he can transfer the spell over to one of us and we can repay him as soon as James gets back."  
  
"So...you're not...?"

Snape rolls his eyes.

"Eager as I am to pay for the privilege of having the monster who almost killed me living under my roof, I shall be rescinding that honour after the allotted three days have passed."

Sirius is so stunned that he doesn't even register the dig. The development has evidently come as a shock to Peter too. He is staring at Snape open mouthed, though he is the first to take hold of himself.  
  
"We...we can't thank you enough," he says with more genuine feeling than Sirius can muster. "I know we didn't always see eye to eye at school..."

"Please," says Snape, "we still do not see eye to eye, I assure you."

"Then why? Why would you do this for us?" Sirius can't stop himself from asking.  
  
Snape looks at him with that cold, half haughty half sardonic expression.

"Had it been you I would have withheld my assistance will all of the delight that it is possible to experience, but Lupin is marginally worthier. And Lily asked it of me."

Of course. For Lily. James is going to be sick when he hears of the selfless favour Severus Snape has had the opportunity to grant his wife.

He has never learned to say thank you or sorry, and the situation is too strange for either. Snape: possibly a death eater but certainly the only thing standing between Remus and ruin.

"Well I'll see to it that Lily alerts you to the next time I am in some distress and you may sit idly by to your heart's content."

"I look forward to it."

"Maybe afterwards..." Peter persists, desperately trying to emulate James at his most Gryffindor. "Can we at least buy you a drink or something?"

Severus Snape looks at both of them long enough that Sirius becomes aware of the sound of his own heart beating in the silence.

"No," he says finally, "you can't." He leaves the three of them standing at the doorway.

  
-

"So be honest," he says. It's two in the morning and they are lying on the floor, heads together like those late nights at Hogwarts when they would talk all night about nothing. Peter has already stumbled home but Lily is still around somewhere. She has enchanted the bunting and the candles so that they hover around them and sway as if they are outside in the wind. It's certainly better than the lopsided cake Peter baked that wonkily spelled out "Welcome Back Moony" in chocolate sickles, but it's hard to tell at this point how much of the effect is exemplary spellcraft and how much is the booze.

"Be honest. Which was worse: the Ministry or Snape's?"

Remus Lupin knows him well enough to recognise a serious question even when he doesn't quite know how to ask it. He smiles and turns his head so Sirius can study the individual freckles across his nose.

"The Ministry was what you would expect I suppose. And Severus was ever so slightly more hospitable but rather less pleased to have me there. I cleaned his kitchen as a gesture of goodwill and he sulked for hours. After that we mostly avoided each other."

"I couldn't bear it at the funeral. That I couldn't even come close enough to comfort you and all the while him skulking around, hovering over."

"He didn't have to do that. He could have refused, stopped me going all together. And besides, it's not like we could have gone together anyway without raising questions. I'm barely getting away with the werewolf thing as it is."

"Peter said something to that effect when he dragged me into the men's to talk me down."

"Charming."

Sirius doesn't return his grin, instead plucks up the courage brush his lips lightly across the burn marks on Remus' wrist and the still livid cut under his eye. Closeness is still a self conscious thing between them after everything that has happened. And after they transfer the vouching spell from Snape to Sirius.

"They hurt you."

"They only used the shackles after I disobeyed them and told you about Snape. And this..." he motions to his eye, "this wasn't them."

"Snape," he growls, but Remus only makes an amused noise.

"I think Snape is more in the business of psychological torture," he says mildly. "Actually it was some of the other werewolves..."

"You're joking."

Remus shakes his head slightly.

"I can't really blame them. Some of them have led such terrible lives. The vast majority of them were homeless and many of them muggles too. Imagine waking up to find yourself not only flung into a world you never knew existed but also a pariah in that world, despised - and with no magic to protect you. It's no wonder they are angry."

"But at you? It's not like things are exactly a walk in the park..."

Remus' face becomes troubled and he shifts slightly so that his arm is over his eyes.

"Did Hew tell you I tried to bite the men who came for me?"

Sirius shrugs. "I bit James once. He deserved it. They deserved it."

"I'd just got the owl from dad when they arrived. They disarmed me on the doorstep before I'd even said a word. I tried to explain about my mum but...when they took hold of me it wasn't just self defence that made me...it was the wolf."

Sirius rolls over onto his elbows so he can look at him properly as Remus speaks.

"It's always there, but when you're stripped of your defences, the curse is more visible, more powerful. The others at the department are that vulnerable to it all the time. It's no wonder they resented me."

"Oh because everything is so easy for you?! Do they know how hard you've-"  
  
"I went to Hogwarts. How many dark creatures have had that luxury? I have qualifications, I still see my pare-I still see my dad, I have a place to live that I can sometimes even pay for, I get to waiter in awful sub-standard establishments..."

"Not to mention the handsomest man in England is your lover," Sirius offers lamely. He reaches for him then, but Remus turns away a little. He can't pretend that doesn't sting.

"The vouching magic..."

"You know I'll never use it."

"It's more than just a summoning charm. They've modified it from old slave magic and house elf stuff. He didnt use it but sometimes I would know when Snape needed me anyway. One minute I'd be reading in the kitchen and the next I'd be outside his study door. I think he found it as disconcerting as I did."

Sirius shivers.

"We'll figure it out." It's insufficient, but he doesn't know what else he can say. Remus reaches tentatively for his hand and they lie quietly for a moment or two.

"Where's Lily?"

Sirius shrugs and narrowly avoids a drop of hot wax from above landing in his eye; a hazard Lily has evidently not foreseen.

"Maybe she's gone to bed. She's been a bit under the weather since James has been gone."

"She seemed alright when she broke our coffee table by dancing on it."

"Yeah, it just seems to be when she gets up. She was sick the morning we went to the ministry you know...and the last two for that matter...Funny that."

Remus' eyes widen and then he sits up with an exasperated sniff.

"Sirius...sometimes I wonder how you even..."

"What?"

Remus doesn't bother to answer. He gets to his feet and Sirius follows him through to the bathroom, bemused. The light is on but the door is ajar.

"Lily?"

She's sitting on the floor against the wall, her yellow woollen tights abandoned and her bare feet against the rusty old bath. Her eyes are raw from crying and there is something in her hand.

Sirius can only stand bewildered while Remus sits down next to her.

"Petunia said I couldn't be sure until I'd used a proper muggle one but they all say the same thing."

Remus gives a little incredulous laugh and kisses her on the forehead.

"Lily this is wonderful."

"I'm barely twenty," she sobs, "I don't have a proper job, I'm fighting a war, I've just smoked eleven of Sirius' cigarettes and I don't even know where my husband is. How am I meant to do this properly? How am I going to tell James?"  
  
Remus smiles and looks up at him. "Maybe you can practice by explaining it to Sirius."

The noise of the door opening makes them all jump.

"Pads? Moony? I would assume this party was in honour of my return but there's a rubbish cake in the hall that says otherwise."

Lily begins to cry again as James' face appears from behind the bathroom door, tanned, bearded and blinking in bemusement from behind a pair of poorly repaired spectacles.

"Well," says James. "What the bloody hell is going on here?"

 

 


	8. Manchester, 1985

The Wythenshawe Centre for the Magically Afflicted  
Manchester, March 1985

  
Ministry inspections are nothing new in this place. Usually they last a day or so; blank faced witches and wizards in uniform robes with uniform clipboards poking in and out of classrooms and rooting around in the dorms. Gordon likes to show them the gardens so that they can observe the 'dark creatures' working on the vegetable patches and tending to the hens and goats. He usually tries to do it just before a meal time so he can serve them salad and say _these radishes, fresh from our allotments..._

Remus, reclusive these days at the best of times, would prefer to lie low during the visits but he knows they need him. So when the newest ministry rep steps into his classroom he nods politely at her and continues with his attempt to teach the accio spell to Robbie.

"Try to make sure that the flick you make with your wrist and wand is connected to what you are saying. Remember the synergy between the wand and the word."

Robbie nods, but the round faced woman in the doorways has unnerved him. At fifteen he has been a werewolf for nearly half of his life and his extra senses are almost as natural as Remus' own. If he is honest, there is something about the woman that doesn't smell quite right to him either - not to mention the fact that Gordon lurking behind her has dug out his dress robes, which is never a good sign - but there is no point in letting Robbie know that.

"Have a another go - " he begins, but the witch makes a little high pitched humph for attention and Remus is forced to turn to her politely.

She is a short dumpy woman, immaculately dressed and smiling warmly, but every wolf sense in his body reads hostility. Robbie draws back a little and he can't help laying a protective hand on his shoulder.

"Might I enquire who is taking this class?" The woman asks.

Archie puts down his knitting and limps to the front of the room.

"If I might introduce Remus Lupin. He's a first rate teacher - the highest mark in the country for -"

"Forgive me," the woman cuts him off, not without first taking a moment to look Archie up and down, from his moth eaten rainbow jumper to his muggle sandals. "Forgive me but by the wristbands I had assumed this young man to be some kind of dark -"

"Werewolf," Remus offers. For some reason he doesn't want to hear this woman say it herself.

"A ministry approved member of staff is of course present at all times," Gordon lies hastily with the briefest look of apology at him, "but we encourage every man and woman here to look to their strengths and Remus is, as my colleague here says, is a skilled wizard and a truly exceptional educator. We are lucky to have him."

The woman gives no indication of having heard and writes something on her clipboard with a pink quill, frowning.

"You," she says suddenly, fixing Robbie with a cold smiling gaze. "Is it usual to be equipped with a wand during lessons?"

"Y...yes." The boy is still afraid, but Remus can sense a prickle of anger too. He is aware enough to detect the sentiment behind that question and he has every reason to resent people like this. "It's mine. It chose me."

The woman's eyebrows shoot up, displaying two rather excessive smears of pink eyeshadow above her fishy eyes.

"It is fair to say then, Mr Bones, that you are teaching the dangerous creatures in this establishment to believe that they are entitled to privileges meant for the safe hands of ordinary wizarding folk?"

Her words chill him somewhat, and he feels his fingers tighten involuntarily about his own wand.

"These people are ordinary wizarding folk, madam," Archie cannot help pointing out.

Gordon is better versed in keeping his cool.

"Our priority is to offer the education that has been unfairly denied our residents. We aim to allow them an easier reintegration back into society and I'm sure you agree that in many cases wand magic is crucial to this."

"My files tell me that you do not yourself carry a wand, Mr Bones."

Even Remus doesn't quite have the forbearance to conceal his reaction. The casually implied prejudice, the sheer unchecked ignorance in the woman's steady gaze is actually rather impressive to behold. Gordon, to his credit, merely nods coolly.

"That is correct, though I fail to see how it's relevant."

"Only it seems strange," she continues, smiling sweetly, "that a _squib_ should be allowed a say in such matters."

The shift in the room is subtle but at that word Remus is somewhat alarmed to realise that there are suddenly eleven werewolves and five other centre residents sitting quietly alert at their desks waiting for him to decide what their next move should be. He can't be sure whether it's the pack instinct or merely the natural authority of a teacher that has placed him there, but it is unnerving. Gordon is well liked at the centre and Remus owes him a tremendous amount, but a mutiny of unpopular magical creatures will be no help to him in this situation. He shakes his head a little and, miraculously, his students stay put, though the crackle of anger in the room is tangible. Archie, the only free man among them, flings down his knitting and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"We do not use that word here," says Gordon eventually. "And ministry inspectors have always found our methods and our results to be exemplary."

"Indeed," says the woman, fixing him with her awful smile. "However, whether or not _I_ find them to be so remains to be seen."

\-----------

_Alice is last thing he sees before he transforms. Once so level headed and skilful, the young witch is blank and almost childlike now, barely aware she and her husband are in danger and certainly in no state to make use of the liquid silver he has gone to such pains to smuggle them.  
He can hear Bellatrix's awful screeching laughter as if through a veil. She has never made a secret of her plans for him and only her own creation, a variation on the imperius curse, has prevented him from imbibing the silver himself these past months. He is not afraid to die, not now, but giving the Longbottoms the means to do it for him is the best he can manage towards that end and it's not going to be enough._

_"Alice," he shouts with the remaining rags of his human voice. "Alice for your little boy - "_

_Merlin's blood what is the child's name?_

_"For your baby - remember what I gave you-"_

_He's too far gone to know if his words have had any effect. His mind is drifting away and the keen animal scent of her is filling his senses, vital and maddening._

"Remus."

_He tries once more to shout, but her name is only a growl, deep in his throat._

"REMUS."

He opens his eyes, realising too late that he's just delivered a furious canine snarl, teeth bared, into the concerned face of Gordon Bones.

"Sorry," he gasps as Gordon places a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Bad dream."

"Fucking lycos," Ian mutters, turning over grumpily in the next bed along. "Not even a moon week."

"Sorry," he says again, though neither Ian nor the figure at his bedside bothers to acknowledge it.

"Do you dream about that time a lot?"

Gordon is frowning, looking beyond him to something Remus he won't see even if he tries. His abilities have never really stopped being unnerving. The woman from the ministry was right about Gordon not carrying a wand. He never even received a Hogwarts letter, but his skill with the sight is easily better than any of Remus' divination teachers at school. And now it appears he can also see dreams.

"Now and again," he admits. He tries to shrug it off but in truth the memory of that transformation, and notion of what the Lestranges nearly made of him, still makes him feel sick. He isn't able to disguise the shaking.

"The Longbottoms were unharmed, mate. The aurors got there just after you transformed, remember."

He nods. 'Unharmed' is hardly an appropriate way to describe Frank and Alice, but now his waking mind has had a chance to catch up he is beginning to wonder what the centre's head magical is doing in his dormitory in the middle of the night.

"Is something wrong?"

"There's always something wrong, Remus." He sees the flash of Gordon's grin in the darkness. "The establishment is so unjust we might as well be living under Lord frigging you-know-who, may he moulder in his grave."

"Er...anything more...immediate?"

  
"Afraid so," the man gives him a weary half smile, "but we can't talk about it here. Get dressed and meet me downstairs in five minutes."

\-----------

Gordon Bones has always sported the harried expression and permanent coffee tremor of a good man spread too thin. He has been fighting the corner of those ostracised by the magical community with virtually no support, funding or recognition since the sixties yet he has never looked quite so weary as he does now. Waiting for Remus by the kitchen door he seems thinner and older in his faded Sex Pistols t-shirt and jeans than he ever has. Whatever it is that Gordon has brought him here for, he isn't expecting good news.

Remus draws nearer and suddenly breaches the parameters of a silencing charm. The noise collides with him in a confusion of voices, clunking glasses and the languid baseline of a song too low to make out. The realisation makes him snort with laughter, in spite of his tiredness.

"You're having a party in the kitchen? That's why you dragged me from my bed?"

"I've known you long enough to guess you wouldn't come if I sent you an invitation like the others.."

Remus shakes his head as Gordon pushes open the door to reveal the kitchen in cheerful disarray.

"What's the occasion?"

"The Ministry is taking over the centre and most of us are to be given the boot," says Gordon.

"What?! But surely -"

"I've seen it. There's no avoiding it. My bags are packed - I'm getting out of here on my own steam before that uptight ministry bint gives me the push in the morning. Drink?"

"But this is your institution -"

"Not any more," he says, shaking his head to silence Remus' attempts at protest. "Nothing to be done about it, so relax, enjoy yourself - you're altogether too sensible for a man of your age and talents - and go to see Archie over there when you have a minute. There's beer here but I'm sensing you're more a wine man. Red?"

Gordon thrusts a large, hastily poured glass into his hands and disappears into the crowd before Remus can reply.

He's heard enough about ministry run centres to know how fortunate he has been to end up here. If he was able to summon enough interest in his own prospects he might even be afraid, but most things are a matter of indifference to him these days.

He hasn't had a drink since before the war and to be honest he only ever really drank red wine when he was around Sirius, but it's been four years and it ought to require more than the stink of cheap merlot to have him entertaining those self indulgent, maudlin thoughts these days. He closes his eyes as if doing so will take the sting from the memory of his mouth, the taste of it, and drinks deeply. It is more bitter than he remembers but the rush of warmth that seeps through his body is quite pleasant. Lily used to laugh at the way alcohol made his cheeks red so quickly; she used to call him a lush.

There are probably about thirty people dotted around the kitchen. He counts all eleven of the staff and the rest are residents. Many of them are standing at the edges of the room, chatting easily with one another but Remus has never been good at parties. The very notion of approaching any of those comfortably chatting groups of people is enough to bring him out in a rash and joining the rest, who are dancing with a dizzying lack of inhibition in the centre of the room, is out of the question.

"We were hoping we would see you down here eventually."

Rosa, a muggle resident who has been a werewolf for only two of her thirty-something years smiles and clinks glasses with him.

"Good to see you Lupin," says the man on her arm. Though he left before Remus started school, Alex had held almost mythical status amongst his friends as the Hogwarts student whose unauthorised animagus spell had gone horrifyingly wrong. They concluded back then that his story had been exaggerated to dissuade students from trying the same, but even now - though most of his features are more or less human - Alex's fingers are webbed and his skin retains the scaley green pallor of a toad.

"Is it true?" He asks, though he doesn't doubt it. "Gordon's really leaving?"

"It's true alright. And there's worse to come if you ask me," says Alex.

"It's that awful Ministry woman's doing. The one dressed like a cupcake," Rosa adds. "When I first found out about magic, I assumed you spent your lives zooming around on broomsticks and having a jolly lovely time. I never imagined you wizarding lot would have the same nasty pen-pushing jobsworths we do!"

"She's worse than that," says Alex, darkly. "That's why Gordon's setting things up to get as many of us out as he can tonight."

Remus' hand stops with the glass nearly at his lips.

"What?"

"Didn't you read the invite? The staff are pushing through paperwork for any of us that might be even remotely eligible for early release and want it. This party is just a cover up - though it's a bloody lovely one."

"I didn't get an invite," says Remus. He didn't get an invite, he is realising, because Gordon knows full well that leaving the centre is an impossibility for him, and if he thinks he can persuade him to -

The jarring sound of the record being abruptly changed causes the three of them to turn. A few of the dancers protest but when the crackly sound of an old jazz orchestra emerges, people begin to pair off. Even Remus smiles.

 _There may be trouble ahead..._ a man's voice sings. Rosa tugs at Alex's arm.

"A muggle one! Come on Alex, I'm educating you. 'Scuse us, Remus."

The boy turns back to him as he is dragged towards the middle of the floor.

"Get your papers sorted next door. I think Archie's there at the moment."

Remus nods with no intention of doing so. He watches them dance together for a moment, Rosa throwing her head back to laugh at something Alex says, and wonders where they will go if they are granted release. The wizarding world is more or less closed to them and though Rosa might pick up low level muggle work if she is discreet, Alex will never be permitted to mix with muggles while the evidence of magic on him is so plain to see.

"Humour an old lady with a dance, Mr Lupin?"

Prudence Fitch is the most intimidatingly intelligent witch on the staff and Remus adores her.

"I'm not sure even you could humour my dancing skills, Prue."

"Tosh," she says, taking him by the hand. "I have three teenage sons and a husband so you will believe me when I say I am familiar with the full breadth of male incompetence. You cannot disappoint me."

The only time Remus can remember dancing with a woman is with Lily on her wedding day. More than a little dizzy with champagne she had galloped him round the dance floor straight into her sister's bristling muggle boyfriend who had challenged him to a fist fight. It may well have come to that had Sirius not appeared, barely able to stand, and offered first to fight in his place and then to dance with the man before falling backwards into a bowl of punch.

Dancing with Prue is different. She arranges his hands so that one is in hers and the other rests on the slender curve of her waist.

"You blush very prettily, Remus John."

"It's one of my few accomplishments."

He doesn't want to know the answer, but he asks anyway.

"Are you...will you be leaving then?"

She purses her lips.

"If Gordon has used the sight to divine what the ministry has in store for the rest of us, he isn't saying. I plan to stick it out as long as I can, but I'm not optimistic. I've heard things about that woman from the Magical Creatures department..."

"Where will you go?"

"There are one or two offers of lecturing posts I could pursue but I fully intend to continue aiding Gordon in his work. And the centre of course, in whatever way I can."

"We will miss you."

Prue narrows her eyes.

"You're not planning to leave? No resident has a more persuasive case for release than you!"

Remus is beginning to understand why Gordon has brought him here. In his own way, he is as manipulative as Dumbledore.

"It's...rather complicated."

"Remus...I certainly do not intend to interfere, but you must understand the way the centre could be run once Gordon is gone...I am almost certain you will not be allowed to teach for a start."

That is something he has not considered. And yet the alternative...

"I don't have a choice," he says. "And even if I did, you know as well as I do that there is nothing out there for people like me."

"I have mentioned my sister is a werewolf have I not?"

He nods.

"She has a muggle PhD in classical mythology and works part time at the magical department of the British library."

He knows what she is trying to do, but he can't help feeling a stab of bitterness. Who kept a roof over her head while she studied, he thinks. Who put in the good word for her at the library, who explains away the absences, ensures the right people keep their mouths shut?

"I'm not saying it was easy for her," she continues. "Nor am I pretending to know the trials you personally have faced, but if you do leave the centre, I'd like to help you - if you'll let me."

The thought is so inviting that he almost allows himself to consider it, but he knows how dangerous it is for people like him to entrust trust their security, their happiness to another.

"Thank you," he says with as much feeling as he can muster.

She knows she has not persuaded him as the music stops and they pull apart. Prudence Fitch, unused to not getting her own way, frowns and pulls him into a firm hug.

"You shall be wasted in here, Remus Lupin. Please think about that, before it is too late."

\----------

Somehow he is one of the last to leave. It's partly that he gets caught up in a particularly competitive game of magical hungry hippos and partly because Gordon makes it his mission to keep filling up his glass and slipping away before Remus can talk to him. When the man finally drops into the seat beside him and offers him a cigarette, he is feeling rather less decisive than he planned to be.

"It's only half past three, Lupin. There's still time to sign the papers off if you'll let me."

Remus offers him a tight smile. It means a lot to him that Gordon has gone to this trouble, but it isn't going to change anything. He takes the cigarette and lights it on a candle, hoping the man will let it go.

"It isn't that easy."

"I'm aware aware of your situation," he says, putting a hand on his shoulder that Remus has to fight not to shrug off. "To put it bluntly, I can arrange for you to see Sirius Black in Azkaban and have the vouching magic removed."

"No."

Gordon sits back and looks at him levelly as Remus tries to meet his eye.

"It's alright to be afraid -"

"I'm not fucking afraid," he snaps.

"Then why are you determined to hide in here?"

He could say what he has just said to Prue, that he already knows a little of what it means to go it alone; the sheer effort required to conceal the evidence of a night spent on a park bench from prospective employers, of making a loaf of bread last for two weeks, of bumping into somebody who remembers you from school pretending not to notice your shabby clothes with their awkward _how are things_ and _what are you up to these days_ , but he has had more wine than he can ever remember drinking and Gordon deserves to know the whole truth.

"Sirius wants me to go to him."

Gordon's eyebrows raise a little at that, but he remains silent, waiting for him to go on.

"The magic that binds us means that when he calls on it I am compelled to go to him. I can resist it, but I always feel it."

"And he calls on it frequently?"

Remus nods. Every day since James and Lily died. It has become easier to recognise when it is happening, to realise when he has absently meandered off course and found himself on the outskirts of the centre and even to ignore the sharp feeling of wrongness that resisting causes in his stomach, but it is always there.

Gordon swears under his breath and runs a hand through his long, unkempt hair; a gesture that is disconcertingly Padfoot-esque.

"But surely that gives you even more reason to have the spell removed."

"If he wants to see me there has to be something in it for him." He was foolish enough to to be used by him once and he certainly doesn't feel any stronger or wiser now.

"But he's insane, they all say so."

"So is Bellatrix Lestrange, but it doesn't mean she isn't dangerous."

"Well perhaps there is another way to -"

"Trust me," he smiles a little bitterly, "I've checked. And besides, I've been happy here. I know things are going to change but isn't it important then that I stay and do what I can?"

Gordon's expression is pensive. He looks around the kitchen, which is almost empty, then leans towards him. Only Archie remains, asleep across a pile of paperwork and almost entirely hidden by empty bottles in the far corner of the room.

"Believe me when I say that things are going to become very bad here, Remus. But even if that were not the case, I would still urge you to leave. This is not the end of your path."

"You've seen something?"

"Yes. Often enough that I think I'm supposed to tell you." Gordon looks at him with his remarkable blue eyes. "May I? Tell you, I mean."

Remus is usually bitterly sarcastic about divination, largely because of his poor results in the subject at school, but he feels the hair on his arms prickle a little all the same. He nods.

Gordon takes a breath. "I've seen a child with a large and loving family. Your son."

He blinks, waits for more, but that seems to be all Gordon intends to say. He grins sheepishly, chiding himself for feeling disappointed. Of course it would be nonsense.   
"I'm afraid siring children isn't like to be one of my areas. I'm surprised it's not in my file."

Even as he speaks, though, he thinks again of Prue and the feel of her soft body as they danced. He has never really had the opportunity to consider girls. There was Sirius from the moment he was aware enough to wonder about such things, and in the rare opportunities since Sirius there have only really been people who remind him of Sirius.

Gordon shrugs.

"I'm ashamed to say your sexuality _is_ touched on in your ministry file and I'm also afraid - or maybe a little relieved in this case - that the  _hows_ aren't really part of the seer package but...look," he runs a hand through his hair again. "I wouldn't have brought it up if I wasn't certain, and I _certainly_ wouldn't be telling you unless I believed I was meant to."

"And why would you be meant to?"

"There are so many reasons but...I think in this case it will be important at some point that you remember to have faith in the people who care about you...I see a lot of people around your boy - and around you - but the strongest image is of a couple. Youngish, messy-dark haired bloke with glasses and a laughing red-head, his wife I think."

It feels like a cruel joke. That Gordon should have seen the two people whose memory will ensure he never puts his trust in anyone again for as long as he lives...he shakes his head and makes to stand up, determined to ignore the tears that have sprung into his eyes. It reminds him of a game Bellatrix used to play, where she would time how quickly she could make him cry. She knew exactly how to use his grief and guilt to unravel him, particularly when it came to the Potters.

"Sorry but you're mistaken. Those people are dead and the boy is their child."

He asked Dumbledore first chance he had to be Harry's guardian, but by the time he was able to escape the Lestranges he had already been with his aunt and uncle for nearly a year. It seemed reasonable that the boy should stay with them then, but when Dumbledore refused even to allow him to write, the message was clear enough. It seems there are limits even to Dumbledore's tolerance. A werewolf is not a fitting friend for the Boy who Lived.

"I'm not mistaken, Remus. I've rarely had a vision of such clarity. It isn't the past that I've seen and the child is yours. I'm certain of it."

He shrugs, trying not to appear as bitter as he feels. "Well if he is mine, can you tell me if he carries my curse?"

Gordon licks his lips.

"The vision is ambiguous. There is some suggestion of an...element of change to his form - but it is by no means definitely lycanthropy. It could be interpreted in many ways..."

Remus massages the spot between his eyes.

"I appreciate your taking an interest Gordon but -"

"It sounds mad, I know. Sometimes I think people with the sight are meant to come over a bit loopy so people don't take us too seriously. But I've told you what I'm meant to tell you, and maybe in a few years it will be of some use to you."

There isn't a hope in the hells that he will risk shackling an innocent to the curse he has lived with for the past twenty years. If anything Gordon has only made his vision less likely, but none of this is his fault and the man has only ever meant him well. He manages to summon a smile for him. Small, genuine.

"Well I intend to stand you a drink if it is."

Gordon grins.

"Make sure you do. Now get some sleep - you're on the early allotment shift if I'm not mistaken. It's been a pleasure to work with you these past few years, Remus. I hope we meet again."

\-----------

It is light by the time he creeps back to his dorm. He has about two hours before he is due to meet Archie on the allotment but he isn't sure he will be able to sleep.

The papers are under his pillow, filled in, signed and ready to send. At the top of the pile is a letter from Gordon, whose spelling is famously terrible.

_Dont underestimate Umbridge. Poisinous bitch.  
Your freind, G_

The kindness of the gesture is not lost on him. Remus sets the note aside sentimentally before he quietly burns the rest.

\-----------

The Wythenshawe Centre for the Magically Afflicted  
Manchester, August 1985

  
It isn't the first time he has awoken here but there are voices now, movement going on above his head. He opens an eye and distantly registers the sound of his own voice moaning as the light hits it, presses a hand clumsily to his face. He wants to sink back into oblivion again, but they wouldn't be coming down here if they didn't need him for something.

"Careful gentlemen, we can't be sure the creature has fully transformed back to human form."

Good old Gibbs. Umbridge's head stooge is as cruel as he is stupid.

"The full moon was four nights ago," says a voice that is just sneering enough to belong to...

"This one's high risk. Volatile. Don't worry overly though - they don't have meals for a couple of days before the change so they're weakened."

"Forgive my ignorance," another painfully familiar voice speaks over the disgusted response of his companion. "Forgive me but I was under the impression that starving a werewolf would significantly _increase_ the likelihood of him doing harm to himself or others."

He must be hallucinating. It wouldn't be the first time in this place, but when Gibbs doesn't respond, the voice addresses him too.

"Remus, my boy?"

"Might I suggest Professor, that we ask Gibbs to offer him something to wear before we interview him."

He almost giggles. It's that old familiar dream where you are summoned to speak with the headmaster and the classmate who knows your secret, who wants you exposed and expelled and probably locked up, but you realise too late that you've forgotten to put any clothes on. Only Gibbs is chucking a tattered robe at him and the pain of pulling it over his head is too immediate, too real to be a dream. He tries to stand, loses his balance, and it is indeed that old classmate who catches his arm and pulls him not ungently to his feet.

"Snape," he says because he cannot think of a single other thing he can say.

The man meets his eyes reluctantly, nods.

"Heartwarming to see you boys reunited," Dumbledore twinkles. "Gibbs have a bath drawn for Mr Lupin and some of his clothes laid out. If he will do us the honour, my colleague and I should like to interview him at his earliest convenience."

\---------

  
Incredibly, Gibbs does what he is told. Remus is given twenty minutes in what is now the staff bathroom, though it takes him nearly ten just to ease his bloodied, aching body into the tub. Full moons have been considerably worse since the new regime and the prospect of doing himself some more serious damage has rather rapidly transformed from _if_ to _when_.  
  
He leaves the water an unpleasant red as he gets out, but he feels impossibly better afterwards.

Snape and Dumbledore are waiting for him in the room that used to be Prue's office. It gives him a pang in his chest to see the empty bookshelves and the bare walls where her things used to be. She didn't last a week after Gordon left. Archie resigned the same day.

"Sit down dear boy."

This isn't going to be about Harry, he tells the burgeoning hope in his chest. Dumbledore pulls a chair out for him before sitting himself, and he is grateful when neither of them attempt to help him ease into his chair, though he is stiff and slow.

"Tea?"

He nods uncertainly and Snape has the teapot pour its contents into three china cups. It is all completed with a tedious meticulousness. Even Snape's magic is uptight it seems. Still, the warmth of the cup in his hand is wonderfully revitalising, and there is fresh milk in the tea, and honey too.

"There does not appear to have been time for you to attend to your injuries, my boy."

Remus puts a hand self consciously to his face and hisses as his fingers brush a long gash across his nose. It seems Dumbledore has not changed his habit of cavorting around the real issue.

"They have my wand," he says as straightforwardly as he can.

This comes as a surprise to Snape at least, who stops for a moment with the teacup at his lips and stares at him with eyes which might contain pity or disgust or both.

"I have some wandless magic," he adds, almost defiantly, "but I won't be strong enough for an hour or two yet..."

"I understand this establishment has recently undergone some changes," says Dumbledore blythely, ignoring the tremor in Remus' hands as he picks up his tea.

"One or two adjustments," he manages.

The worst thing - aside from being forced to part with his wand - has been the boredom. The new transformation protocol is hell and he misses the teaching of course, but the tedium of sitting in his own class while Umbridge or one of the others takes them through textbooks he found basic as an eleven year old has been unbearable.

"Then perhaps you will allow me to assist..?"

He nods. Dumbledore is so skilled that he doesn't need to reach towards him. The movement of his wand is almost imperceptible but the soothing sensation across Remus' face is instant and he is left with a pleasantly tingly feeling across the bridge of his nose and, bizarrely, the faintest aroma of liquorice.

"Thank you," he says, gingerly rubbing where the wound has healed.

He still can't figure out while Dumbledore is here. The old man is good natured enough, but they all learned eventually that his schemes and even his kindnesses tend to belong to a larger plan. But perhaps he is being unfair. There was a war to fight back then and surely, he thinks with a sliver of dread, surely there isn't a reason for Dumbledore to need him to go back to the ferals now. It achieved little enough the first time around, save convincing his friends he was in league with Voldemort. He often wonders if James and Lily died thinking it was somehow he, and not Sirius who had betrayed them. That at least might have been easier on James, though he is selfish enough to hope it isn't true all the same.

"Gordon Bones has recently made me aware of the magic which binds you to Sirius Black."

He nods. He might have known.

"It is the reason you have not been able to leave this establishment?"

"One of them," he says reluctantly.

"We come with a solution of sorts, if it is of interest."

They let him make the connection himself. Of course. He has been slow, damnably stupidly slow.

"Snape can reverse the spell because I was bound to him in the first place."

He had of course considered it himself, but he had thought Snape was a death eater - he still isn't sure that it isn't indeed the case but it is a thought for when he has the wits to deal with it.

"Precisely."

He speaks before he thinks: "Why do you need me free?" And Snape shoots him a glance then that is almost conspiratorial, almost amused. Dumbledore sips his tea in contemplative silence. He has changed a little since the war; older perhaps and also somehow sleeker, more serene. But there is still the same remarkable energy about him, the feeling that he has already played out in his mind the conversation you are about to have and each of its variants, and is amiably sucking on a sherbet lemon while he waits for you to catch up.

"It is true that there is something I would ask of you," he says finally. "But our help comes without conditions."

"I'm sorry," he says, and means it. "I didn't mean it to sound that way."

Dumbledore nods, though there is the suggestion something like regret in his expression.

"We should proceed immediately," says Snape, businesslike. "Unless Mr Lupin would prefer to retain his attachment to that degenerate - "

"Thank you Severus. Remus, with your permission..."

It is almost laughably simple. They stand, Snape's left hand on his right shoulder and his right hand on Snape's left. The boy he last saw at his mother's funeral has filled out across his back over the past five years or so, and up close he smells rather unexpectedly of clean linen and bergamot. Sirius always claimed that Snape emitted the exact aroma of a damp sock that's been taken on a long hike and then wanked into. It is an olfactory association that, until now, he has never been able to un-make.

He is barely aware that Dumbledore is performing the reverse spell until the hum in his chest that he didn't even know was there suddenly stills. It's like the enveloping silence after the whir of a machine ceases beneath a conversation. An invisible string has been severed, and the realisation of this final separation from Sirius hits him in a wave of grief stronger than he has felt in years. He pulls away from Snape shaking and disoriented and puts a hand out to steady himself on the desk wondering, pathetically, if Sirius feels it too.

"Sorry," he says, gasping, "I just..."

"Touching," Snape sneers. "Tears for the madman who killed -"

"Enough Severus."

There is something in Dumbledore's tone that even Remus blanches at. Snape bristles.

"I merely observed that - "

"I would be immensely grateful if you would pay a visit to the vegetable plot." The old man is at once his winsome self again. "Gordon Bones promised me that a certain Robert Wellcraft is cultivating the finest radishes in the wizarding world and suggested we might take some with us as a parting gift, but I am rather afraid that Dolores will not allow us to stay much longer."

Snape snorts in frustration bit does not dare disobey. Once he is gone, Dumbledore offers him a handkerchief.

"A muggle boy gave this to me after a misdirected golf ball knocked me on the head as I queued at an ice cream van in St Andrew's. A dangerous place for a dangerous sport it seems. In case you were wondering, it depicts four martial arts experts who also happen to be tortoises."

That does raise a smile. Robbie has a t-shirt with the same figures on it.

"I didn't mean to make a fuss. It's just the shock...I don't..." he carefully examines the four warrior tortoises on the handkerchief, "I don't want you to think that I still..."

"You do not not wish me to think that you are grieving for Sirius Black?"

He nods.

"And you do not wish me to think it because it is the truth?"

That gives him a jolt. It's too much like the twists conversations could take during the war, when everyone was suspicious and afraid. He had his fair share of barbed questions then, from people he had thought were his friends. But they can't send him to Azkaban for having believed that somebody could care for him and for being wrong.

"I am grateful for your help and Snape's, Sir," he says, "but Sirius was very dear to me once. I can't pretend otherwise."

Dumbledore is quiet for a moment or two, and Remus marvels at how much he feels as if he is sixteen again, in spite of everything that has happened. He wants to ask _are you angry?_ But the old man only looks weary and sad.

"Love," says Dumbledore eventually, "even misplaced love, is perhaps the only thing in life one need never apologise for."

Then he pours them both another cup of tea and tells him about a boy called Gellert Grindelwald.

  
\-----------

  
Kincardineshire, September 1985

  
The Lestrange estate lies about three miles west of a Scottish town called Kincardine O' Neil. They have no idea what residual dark magic may prevent them from apparating there and the area's railway line has been unused for years so they take an overcrowded and rather rowdy train as far as Aberdeen and from there, a taxi. Remus at least, has enjoyed this last leg; the lull in the darkened car as it twists around the unlit country roads he finds gently soporific.

"Your pal's a bit peely wally."

He looks at the man beside him, head tilted back, one arm foppishly positioned across his forehead. It's been an uncomfortable fortnight trying to be unobtrusive in Snape's immaculate flat. The man is sensitive to just about everything.

"He suffers from...vehicle nausea."

He sees the driver raise an eyebrow in the front mirror and knows he's got the wrong words for it.

"You mean the loon's car sick?"

"Yes, sorry. It's these windy roads he isn't used to."

Car sick. He repeats it in his mind a few times so he will remember. He isn't exactly sure what a loon is.

"It's an extra fiver if he chunders."

Remus shrugs and watches the hills lope past the window. Dumbledore has furnished them with muggle money to spare and if the train journey is anything to go by, Snape's groaning and posturing won't come to much anyway.

He would usually find it irritating, but he is glad of the distraction from his own stomach, which tightens uncomfortably the closer they get to the estate.

The driver seems to take his silence as agreement, relaxes.

"So you boys off on a wee holiday?"

Remus steals a glance at Snape, who doesn't respond.

"A sort of...working holiday. We're interested in the history of the area."

"Well there's plenty of that in these parts. They say the Lestrange place is haunted for a start."

Snape emits a low scornful huff but otherwise doesn't move. To ease the boredom these past few days, Remus has begun to analyse how exactly he manages to convey so much contempt with so little. Less is more, he has discovered.

"Do you know the owner at all?"

"Nah. The previous lot sold up really quick about four years ago. It's some American bloke now trying to buy up the whole fucking country to build golf courses. Rich prick. 'Scuse my French. Development seems to be slow though, that's why it's set up as a B&B at the moment. It's Sheena Gordon 'at runs the place. Nice lady, got a daughter with a face like a slapped arse who works with her there in the holidays."

Remus turns again to Snape, who does at least deign to look at him this time. If development is slow it's probably because the house are full of curses and charms to protect Lestrange interests. And if there are still Lestrange interests to protect then perhaps this mission of Dumbledore's isn't as unnecessary as they both thought.

The house suddenly lurches out of the darkness, swinging into view and he isn't able to ignore the tightening in his stomach, the urgent taste of metal in his mouth that warns he might need to be sick himself.

Snape on the other hand, is his brittle and dignified self again the minute he steps out of the car and smooths down his robes. By then Remus has begun to sweat through his jacket and getting out of the taxi only makes it worse. He pays the driver with a handful of funny looking coins, only vaguely aware that he may be overdoing the tip somewhat, and they stand for a moment as the car pulls away. The house is lit only by the moon, a threatening gibbous, and by the light from a few angular windows. There are gargoyles carved on the front in the form of dementors.

"Charming effect," says Snape.

It is often difficult to tell whether or not Snape's sardonic offerings are meant to amuse, but he finds that he can't form the words to reply this time anyway. He feels Snape's eyes on him and presses forward to the front door to avoid questions - not that Snape has shown anything but almost aggressive disinterest towards him since they left Manchester - and concentrates on trying to slow his heart before he has some kind of nervous attack. That would be the final humiliation.

Inside is lit cheerfully by a couple of standing lamps and smells like damp and mothballs. The forbidding front foyer Remus remembers has been crudely reformed to make space for a reception desk and there is a painting hanging above it of a dog wearing a top hat. He wonders if the keen sensation of dread is magic-wrought or a symptom of his own anxiety, but Snape's unchangingly leaden bearing is not going to be a helpful barometer.

He barely registers the dumpy woman, who by her curlers has seemingly woken especially to show them to their room. Perhaps that is why he also fails to understand the meaning behind her parting comment until the two of them are standing together in mild horror next to the modestly sized double bed she has prepared for them.

"When she said she had no problem with our sort I thought..."

"Wizards," says Snape. "So did I."

"I'll take the floor," he says quickly. He doesn't think he can face Snape's disgust at the notion of bunking up with a queer werewolf at this moment.

"I hardly think you have recovered sufficiently to..."

"It's fine," he can feel his breath coming quicker and moves to pour himself a glass of water from a jug on the dresser. Sleeping on the floor will be like last time he was here, he thinks, but without the -

"Lupin -"

The glass falls from his hand. It doesn't smash but the water sprays everywhere and the glass rolls towards Snape's shoes.

"Shit -"

Snape rights the cup with a flick of his wand and pours him another glass. "Dumbledore has been rather vague on the subject of your connection to this place. It is clear you spent some time here. How long?"

Remus takes a sip of water and wonders if there could possibly be anybody he would prefer to talk about this less to than Severus Snape.

"About five months." It is childish, he supposes, not to elaborate so he adds: "Just after James and - after Voldemort was defeated until the Lestranges were arrested."

"And this was in the capacity of...?"

"Honoured house guest."

Snape's lips twist.

"If we are to work together then this infantile petulance with not serve us -"

He puts his hands up in surrender, nearly grins; the man is every bit as tediously pro-faced as he was at Hogwarts, but Remus feels the lack of people with which he can share that observation like a yawning hollow in his chest. "Bellatrix Lestrange inherited the vouching spell after Sirius," he says resignedly, "so I was required to live here for a time."

Snape blinks.

"You mean the Ministry gave you to that madwoman?"

He shrugs and Snape stares at him for a few moments, his expression unreadable. It's a habit that never fails to rattle, and not for the first time he finds himself saying more than he means to just to fill the silence.

"The Lestranges had not yet been formally implicated and the ministry was in an uproar. They needed me off their hands and most of them assumed I was in league with Voldemort anyway - or at the very least planning to eat their children..."

"We do not need to take rooms here." Snape crosses the floor and pours himself a glass of water by hand. "Dumbledore means well but there are situations where he fails to comprehend quite how much he asks."

He tries for a murmur of agreement but the noise is more like a short bitter laugh.

"I appreciate that. Really. But we should be here."

"I do not suggest this out of sentimentality, Lupin. If you are not fit to complete the task in hand -"

"I'm fit.

Snape gives him a skeptical look over his long nose.

"There is an acceptable wizard's inn in the next village."

"I said I'm -"

"For meals. I have no doubt that what is offered here is intolerable."

Remus exhales. He's fairly certain that, for all of his good deeds, Snape only does that sort of thing to taunt him; like a cat playing with a desperate broken bird, more out of curiosity than for the kill. He finishes his water and then, for want of something better to do, sits on the bed and removes his shoes. Snape disappears into the little bathroom for long enough that Remus begins to wonder if he has somehow run off but he emerges eventually, looking haughty and studiously unapologetic in a rather severe looking white night shirt.

His own preparations are less lengthy. He has barely more with him than the clothes on his back. He brushes his teeth, noting his wan reflection against the cheerful pink tiles of the bathroom, then fishes out his oldest t-shirt to put on with his boxers.

Snape is already in bed when he emerges, the room more cosily lit now by the lamp at his bedside.

"If you pass me the spare pillow I think I saw an extra blanket in the -"

"Just get into the bed Lupin."

He opens his mouth to protest but abandons whatever it was he planned to say, climbs in.

"We can devise a more acceptable arrangement in the morning."

He hums in agreement as Snape turns out the light, has to stop himself from offering a goodnight into the darkness. The silence becomes so oppressive that even shifting slightly feels disturbingly loud. He doesn't particularly wish for sleep. It is almost certain that here, in this place, he will dream of Bellatrix. Instead, he stares upwards into the darkness and listens to the soft regular breathing of the man beside him turn into a gentle snore and waits for morning.

\-----------

_He awakens to the cold of the stone floor pressed against his face, the grey morning light softy illuminating the windows, blood under his fingernails. There is no sign of the girl.  
He knows better than to hope, and yet there is a small amount of comfort in not knowing it yet for certain. His mind goes unbidden to a memory of James mispronouncing the term quantum superposition and an unimpressed Lily suggesting he try it out by locking Sirius in a steel box. A paradox she says, only Sirius is locked away now anyway and the rest of them are dead, all of them except for the girl who is both dead and alive until Bellatrix finds him and strokes his head and tells him he was a very good dog and then_

  
He awakens to the uncomfortable realisation that Snape has an erection.

The man is, thank the gods, still sleeping, but the realisation once had is impossible to un-have.  
He can't help thinking of what James would have said. He can picture him revelling in mock-horror, slinging his arm around him like the entitled purebred idiot he was and making him some verbose offer of therapy or firewhisky or death. But he also can't help the burgeoning realisation that his body is responding in kind. It's been so long since he has had any type of human closeness that even...

Snape stirs and Remus, barely suppressing a yelp of alarm, leaps out of the bed before the man can register either of their predicaments.

The shower is a single cold dribble of water except when it is a scalding deluge, but he takes his time lathering the pungently floral soap over his body and into his hair. The wounds from the last moon are healing, but even disregarding the brutality of Umbridge's regime, he knows his recoveries are getting slower. It's the way it goes, or so he's read. Most werewolves die from their post-transformation injuries eventually and he has never imagined his own fate will be any different. Still, it's a curious feeling to observe it actually happening.  
To avoid any further embarrassment, he dresses in the uncomfortable humidity of the bathroom and his clothes stick to him awkwardly as he emerges. Snape is fully clothed and assembling his potions materials on the corner of the room next to the television. Perhaps he is as unfond of washing as James always said he was.

"You're keen," he offers with an attempt at a grin. The man scowls.

"As I am sure you do not recall from your remedial potions lessons, anything containing mugwort must be started precisely nine days before its intended use."

"And of course everyone knows you need mugwort to make erm..."

In nine days it will be a full moon, but Snape can't possibly be intending to brew anything for-

"Wolfsbane."

"Oh..." He has heard of it of course. Shortly after Remus left school it was hailed as the miracle breakthrough that could end lycanthropy, but within a year the death eaters had started supplying it to werewolves sworn to Voldemort, allowing them to better coordinate their attacks. The resultant infamy has rather ruined any chances of ministry funding - the wizarding community will never support a subsidised potion that allows dark creatures to select their victims - and it has only been available privately since then.

"You have never used it?"

"Too expensive for the centre," he says. "And too humane for Umbridge. I never expected you to go to the trouble. Really."

"Then what pray, were you planning to do this full moon? Utilise the breakfast room?"

He shrugs. "Chain myself up in the woods, put up a few secrecy charms. It's not much fun but it's safe. I've done it before."

There were few enough options left to him after he finally left Sirius and had nowhere to live and all of his friends believed he was working for Voldemort.

Snape takes the time to give him his most derisive look, but Remus is tired of the man and his endless sneering misery.

"I'm going for a wander," he says.

"Is that wise?"

"Don't care."

It is a testament to the awfulness of the man, he thinks to himself, that he would prefer to explore the curse ridden corridors of the house in which he spent the worst period of his life than endure another moment in his company. But if they are going to find any trace of the hopefully late Lord Voldemort, then he needs to get over the gut twisting dread of this place somehow or other and the exhausting infuriating presence of Severus Snape has at least provided him with a sort of distraction. It's probably what Dumbledore had planned all along.

He isn't familiar with this part of the house. When Bellatrix was away, or had no need for him, he spent most of his time in the servants quarters.

_Where you belong, filthy half-blood creature_

The thought slithers so seamlessly into his mind that he doesn't immediately realise it isn't his own.

_Clinging to the humans who despise you, letting them use you_

He carries on along the corridor. It is clean and dusted, but the paintwork is cracked and chipped.

_Trotting around in human clothes, but everyone sees you for the animal you are_

He smiles grimly. Animal he may be, but he still holds the highest defence mark in Hogwarts' history. He knows how to recognise an innuo spell.

_THEY all saw you for what you were, you disgusted them too_

The closer he gets to the source, the more of him it can read. He tries walking further down the corridor and the whispering in his head gets fainter. He turns back. There is a painting of a plump middle aged woman smiling benignly hanging on the wall. It has to be that.

_James, Lily, Peter. They all baelieved it was you. Died believing it._

The voice in his head rises to a screech as he pulls out his wand and mutters the counter-spell.

_Sirius Black was laughing at you then, and he is laughing now because he KNOWS THAT EVEN AFTER EVERYTHING THAT HAS HAPPENED YOU STILL -_

"Hello young man."

The painting suddenly looks directly at him with clear eyes.

"You are rather close," she says. "And may I say somewhat sweaty. Shall I have one of the house-elves bring you something cool to drink?"

Remus steps back.

"Pardon me, madam. I was merely admiring the detail in your hairpiece."

The painting swells a little and tosses her head coquettishly.

"It took my artist several attempts to perfect."

He feels the chill in the air before he hears the next voice, both things familiar.

"Your artist rushed you so he could get to the pub sooner, you daft bint. I was there."

The painting gives a little screech of indignation.

"You are a black tongued liar, McLean and you are shaming us in front of our guest - though I'd expect no less from a sassenach bootlicking turncoat like you."

What Remus managed to glean from the house elves during his first stay at the Lestrange manor is that McLean was some sort of double agent during the Jacobite rebellion. Murdered while undercover, he is doomed to haunt these halls in the clothes he died in; the colours of the clan he plotted to destroy. It is, Remus concedes, enough to make anyone a little grumpy.

"He's no guest woman! This is the mistress' pet werewolf, and what it thinks it is doing out of the servants' wing without its mop and bucket remains to be seen."

The woman visibly recoils and McLean laughs nastily.

"It's lovely to see you too, McLean," says Remus. "In fact I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

The ghost glowers at him from beneath his shaggy eyebrows.

"The mistress might be gone boy, but if you think you can come strutting up here -"

"Can I help you?"

All three of them freeze as the caretaker's voice carries from the end of the corridor.

Remus curses inwardly. He has been here five minutes and he has been caught by a muggle squabbling with a painting and a ghost. Snape is going to love this.

McLean disappears with a little popping sound and the woman in the painting smooths down her hair and arranges her expression of disgust back into a gentle smile. He might, just _might_ have got away with it.

"I'm just admiring this painting. Is she ah - a relative of the owner?"

Sheena Gordon moves next to him and smiles.

"That's Elizabeth Gow," she says. "They say her father was so desperate to find her a husband that he offered this entire estate as part of her dowry and still nobody would have her."

The painting does not move, but Remus notices two tiny dots of red appear on her cheeks.

"And this was the same man who eventually lost the estate to Lestrange in a card game?"

"Ah you've heard that story have you?"

"I'm actually quite interested in the history of this place. It's...it's why we chose to holiday here in fact."

"It is a fascinating place," says Sheena. There is something in her tone then, something akin to bitterness that sparks his interest, but then she smiles. "I would be happy to show you around at some point."

"That would be wonderful, if you can spare the time."

"I'd be delighted. I have the breakfast things to clear now, but perhaps around two o'clock?"

"Perfect. And is it alright to do some exploring for the time being?"

"Of course," says the woman. And then she frowns. "Just...not the basement. It hasn't been...health and safety measures you understand."

"No problem," he grins, and wonders why she is lying. He transformed often enough down there to know that it is structurally the soundest part of the building. Then, just before they round he corner together, Remus picks up a scent that makes the hair on his arms stand up on end. A rather fat girl, surely no older than eighteen or nineteen, in a battered pair of Dr Martins and a Buzzcocks t-shirt is cleaning the windows and turns to them with a surly expression.

Sheena smiles and pats the girl on the arm.

"This is my daughter Julie. She's taking a year out from college to help out with things here, aren't you love?"

Julie grunts miserably, but her eyes fix Remus with a wary look.

"Pleased to meet you," he says, his heart racing. To his relief, she seems to lose interest in him and turns back to the window.

"She's a good girl," says Sheena, a little desperately and he smiles, nods, wondering dazed how long Julie has been a werewolf for. Not long, by the look of things, or she would have been able to recognise him too.

"I'd best get back to my -" he is going to say colleague but doesn't want to confuse the woman any further, "- partner," he manages, though the word sticks a little in his throat.

Sheena smiles.

"I'll pop past your room later to collect you. Mr Snape is very welcome too."

He thanks her and makes his escape.

\-----------  
Sheena Gordon is true to her word and, much to the irritation of Snape, takes them both on an extensive tour of the house that lasts until dinner time.  
Though her knowledge of the place is impressive, it is from an entirely muggle point of understanding, and Remus exhausts himself attempting to make up for Snape's cold and ill-concealed boredom by being twice as enthusiastic.

It is helpful in a way; it gives them a chance to catalogue some of the easier to spot dark magic under the guise of taking notes and for Remus, seeing the place again in such genial or in Snape's case at least bizarre company, lends him a certain distance from his time there with Bellatrix and Rodolphus.

Still, he can't hide his reluctance to enter the great hall. It's the scent that sends him back there; a mixture of the pine logs that are burned on the fireplace and the residual stink of centuries of dark magic. For a second he almost forgets that five years have passed and stops dead on the threshold unable to move. When Snape puts his hand lightly on his arm he flinches.

"Sorry," he mutters and moves forward.

"You're a wee bit pale love," says Sheena. "Do you need to sit down?"

"Just light headed," he smiles. "Let's keep going."

Sheena gives his hand a little pat and continues but Snape, when they finally get back to their room, is less convinced.

"What is the significance of the great hall?"

Remus sits down on the bed and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"Can we...can we not talk about this now?"

"Do not misunderstand. I have no interest in your personal suffering, but the residual dark magic in that place in addition to your reaction indicates it might be important to our work."

Remus bites his lip.

"The hall was always a public space. I agree it is important to rule it out, but my guess is that anything connected to Voldemort will be somewhere less easily accessible to strangers."

"What do you mean it was a public space?"

"The Lestranges used to...hold court there in a manner of speaking."

"Must I beg you to be detailed?"

"Tortures, public interrogations, executions, orgies...the usual death eater stuff." He can't help adding spitefully: "I thought you would be familiar with that sort of thing."

Snape's lips twist in irritation and he thinks _good_. "They also had meals in there. It was an important space but not for secret business."

"You were..." Snape swerves last minute from the word tortured, "...interrogated?"

"Yes but not in there. Bellatrix wanted information about Sirius and to her that was a family matter, something to be handled with discretion."

"So your reaction today was..."

Remus sighs, feels the need for a cigarette.

"They used to chain me up in there when I transformed," he says, painfully aware of his humiliated flush. "As well as scaring everybody shitless Bellatrix had the charming notion that it also displayed a sort of pureblood mastery over their inferiors." He looks up for a moment and sees Snape has grown pale. He is reminded of him in the days following his idiotic moonlit trip to the shack a lifetime ago; not just angry, not just disgusted, but palpably and viscerally afraid.

"Did you ever..."

"What, kill anyone?" He laughs somewhat bitterly and shakes his head. "She made me believe I did, just for fun. It was two months before I got it out of the house elves that she had been lying."

Snape stares at him for a moment, his expression caught in rigid awkwardness between horror and pity.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't," says Remus gruffly. "I wasn't trying to...never mind."

Seemingly at a loss over what to do or ask next, Snape crosses the room to right some of his potions equipment that's left out on the table and he can't help grinning at how out of place the man looks against the floral wallpaper. His choice of muggle clothing is predictably severe and yet the black jeans and fitted jacket give him the appearance of a washed up muggle pop singer. It is clear the man has no idea how much his wardrobe is adding credence to the impression that they are a couple.

Neither of them speak for a while. Snape idles with his bottles and vials, Remus fiddles with the fraying hem of his sleeve, reaches for a book. The silence hovers somewhere between awkward and oppressive.

Then the couple in the next room start having sex.

Snape puts down his equipment with a studied patience.

"We're going out," he says.

\-----------

The nearest pub is back in the village, but they knock a mile or so off the taxi route by cutting through the fields on foot. If Snape delights as Remus does in the red glow of the waning daylight or the sway and sigh of the fields, he gives no sign. But then Snape, he thinks, has not spent the last four years of his life in Manchester.

Kincardine O' Neil is quite possibly the most boring place in the world and the pub, though run by wizards, appears to require muggle business as well to stay open. The bartender is a thin wizard with an impressive handlebar moustache who recognises them as magicals with a big toothy smile.

"Nice to see a few more of our sort in this neck of the woods. We've a few -" he mouths the word muggle "- lads in tonight, over there by the fireplace so mind and keep it discreet. Ministry requirements and all that..."

The men in question have clearly been drinking there for some time, and their loud and mostly lewd conversation is audible even from their little booth in the corner. Still, it's pleasant enough to sit side by side and share a bottle of wine in relatively agreeable almost-silence. Snape flicks an old copy of the Prophet while he gets stuck into a novel he picked up in the breakfast room.

Eventually the aroma of something that might be called stovies, if the menu above the bar is to be believed, lures them from their comfortable silence to place and order. There are two of the muggle lads just behind of them at the bar, neither of them able to stand up straight, and they make no move to stand aside when they turn.

"You boys having a nice wee evening there just the two of you?" The first lad smirks sidelong at his friend, who adds rather less subtly: "Fucking poofs."

Remus winces. He is not in the least bit afraid or even particularly offended, but isn't sure Snape's relatively good humour will survive the affront.

"We're not -" he begins and it takes him a moment to process the fact that Severus Snape has wrapped his arm around his waist. He turns to him, startled, but Snape is staring coldly but apparently without blinking at the first man.

"We don't need your lot around here," says his companion, but he has lost some of his conviction.

"A curious opinion," says Snape, pulling Remus more tightly to him, "for a man whose friend here likes to wear his mother's Sunday frock in private."

The man attempts to laugh it off, turning to his friend who is staring at Snape with real fear in his eyes.

"Have a pleasant evening," says Snape, ushering Remus back to their booth. The men make no move to follow them but Snape holds tightly to him until they are back at their table. 

"You used legilimens!" Remus hisses as they sit back down, painfully aware of how hot his cheeks feel. "Was that really necessary?"

"Don't be boring," says Snape, a smile hovering about his lips.

Remus can't help laughing, realising rather belatedly that they are both rather drunk. "I don't understand why you do it," he says.

"Do what?"

"Antagonise people like that. You were just the same at school. If anyone had it in for you rightly or wrongly, you would always go out of your way to annoy them more."

Snape's expression sours a little.

"If you are referring to the swaggering buffoons who were your _boon companions_ then I suppose that's true. I don't believe in pandering to low life arrogant -"

"Yes yes I know. James Potter scum of the earth and all that." He has no intention of allowing the conversation to stray down that avenue. "I just mean you wind people up even when you know the outcome will be worse for yourself."

"I believe it is preferable to accepting scorn and abuse as one's rightful lot in life and spending one's entire existence trying to be invisible."

That takes him by surprise and he gives a short startled laugh. "I suppose it might be!"

The defensiveness goes out of Snape's shoulders and he fixes Remus with a thoughtful look.

"I have often wondered if the tenacity of your sense of humour is a mark of courage or of mental instability."

"It's both," he says, refilling Snape's glass as a voice interrupts them from across the bar.

"S...S...Severus S...Snape!" The man next to him stiffens. "By the hair on Merlin's foot! F...fancy bumping into you like this!"

A short, pale figure whose face Remus vaguely remembers, approaches them nervously.

"How good to see you," says Snape with such a low level enthusiasm that Remus has to mask yet another grin. He shifts round to make room for the man who places a mug of butterbeer on to the table with a finality that makes Snape grimace.

"My colleague, Remus Lupin," he says reluctantly as the little man offers him a limp handshake."Lupin, allow me to introduce a fellow professor. Perhaps you've been fortunate enough to read his several articles on modern dark magic defence." Snape only just stops short of rolling his eyes. "This is Quirinus Quirrell."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Azkaban

Sirius is in the shed playing at muggles when Remus gets back, tending to Minerva with some tools they lent him in the village. He picks up his scent before he hears him but he doesn't turn round, hoping that Remus will come up behind and put his arms around him.

 _Pathetic_ , says the Walburga who lives in his head. _Cloying effeminate milksop of a son._

 _Poor soppy little sausage_ adds imaginary James, whose presence has become more frequent these past few months with both the Potters away for such long stretches. He chooses to ignore them both, but Remus stays in the doorway regardless. It's good in a way, means that he is currently in control of the vouching spell that has bound them since last autumn.

"I've just been speaking to Mrs Harris at the bus stop."

 _Ah_ he thinks and turns with his most innocent expression.

"Wonderful lady," he says, "A jewel among women."

Remus' mouth twists in a way that says he has decided not to humour him. "She said to tell you Kyle very much enjoyed the _motorbike ride_."  
He looks tired. It's four days from the full moon and he's just completed his second shift of the day. And the two of them are on watch tonight. There is a puffy, indistinct aspect to his features that makes Sirius want to bundle him up the stairs to bed and bury him in blankets, but he has tried that before and knows it won't go down well.

"He did enjoy it," he says warily, "and so did Minerva."

Remus narrows his eyes but Sirius can tell he isn't really angry. "Padfoot," he says sternly.

"We went seven miles an hour up to the post office and back, fairy's honour."

He knows he can't lie to save himself, but sometimes with Remus it's uncanny. The man puts his head in his hands and groans. "Merlin's beard you flew with him didn't you?!"

No point trying to deny it.

"Only when we were out of sight and his mum couldn't see. He loved it."

"He's six years old!"

"Is he? Children all look the same to me. Featureless blobs."

A slight quirk of Remus' mouth says he almost has him.

"This is a muggle village. One fuck up and they'll be on our doorstep with pitchforks."

It's always pitchforks with Remus; the twofold paranoia of being both a werewolf and queer.

"Fear not Moony my dove," he says airily. "The convention-loving villagers let me borrow their tools for my bike, remember. We've got plenty pitchforks of our own for self defence. Pitchforks coming out of our ears in fact. A plethora of pitchforks..."

"I hardly think that pitchforks are included in a motorbike repair toolb...oh for god's sake."

Remus is undeniably biting back a grin now and he can't help reaching for him.

"Gerroff Sirius! You're covered in oil and god knows what."

"And the juxtaposition with my classical beauty only increases my allure..."

"The juxtaposition of odours alas does not," says Remus, but he presses into him all the same and playfully bites the side of his neck. Sirius gasps and wishes he could tell him how much he loves the wolf in him, but there are two Indisputable Truths that must never be challenged if one wishes to live peacefully with Moony. The first is: He Can Manage, especially financially - it's the reason he works two terrible jobs to pay rent on the cottage that Sirius neither wants nor needs - and the other, perhaps most sacred of all, is that Remus Lupin is an entirely separate being from The Wolf. Any suggestion to the contrary and he'll be sulking for weeks, all of his feelings packed back up inside his little internal Moony cupboard that they all worked so hard to break open in the first place.

"It's not my fault that you get all princessy this time of the month."

"I merely request that you do not bathe in motorbike oil before making advances."

"Then I solemnly swear to swathe myself the most delicate perfumes before presuming to approach you from this day forward."

Remus presses his face into him and he feels his smile against his neck.

"And no more flying motorbikes in front of the muggles."

"I shall be the most boring person in the village. Even more boring than Trevor."

"I happen to find his model railway chats rather thrilling."

Sirius laughs and then becomes aware that he is laughing and of how alarmingly strange it feels. He can't remember the last time he thought about Moony and their cottage without...

 

The realisation descends with a leaden thud: the dementors are gone.

 

He sniffs the air, padfootesque. There is a strange silence hanging over the place and a kind of emptiness, a sensation...it isn't a good feeling exactly, more a sort of lack or an absence, but then an absence of awful is not something one in his position ought to sniff at, literally or otherwise.

He gets up shakily and crawls over to the door, pressing the left side of his face to the dirt floor to see underneath. The corridor is empty, not a single foul swish of Dementor, not a single anguished wail. Somebody in a cell further along starts to sing a song about a wizard and a goat.

"McTavish," he hisses. He hears some scrabbling and then a solitary staring eye appears under the bottom of the adjacent cell door. He has often wondered how it is possible to convey such extreme insanity with so little, but Tarquin McTavish manages it.

"If it isn't young Sirius Black. Last time you showed your face I recall you told me to insert my opinions on muggle affairs into my own anus."

"Those weren't the exact words I used but yes -"

"It was rather hurtful."

The eye stares at him, unblinking and reproachful and he stifles a sigh of impatience.

"Never mind that now. Something's happened. What's going on?"

McTavish finally blinks.

"The hooded beasties have fucked off lad, that is what's going on! I'm remembering the taste of hot buttered crumpets and a time when my wife used to like me and and none of it is turning to shit, that's what's going on!"

"But where have they gone?"

Sirius' cell overlooks the exercise yard. McTavish's, on the other hand, offers premium views of the front entrance. It's an unimaginable privilege; a view that changes, a view that from time to time includes humans...

"New prisoner," says McTavish, proud as if this extra knowledge is in some way a reflection of his own greatness. "A giant no less and making a hell of a fuss. It seems they need all of the black-cowled death farts to to bring the poor bastard in."

Only a fraction of what McTavish says is reliable. The man actually believes he's in here for imprisoning someone in a teapot.

"A giant you say," Sirius murmurs. "Sounds like buggery bollocks to me."

"I saw him with my own two eyes!" McTavish exclaims, as his one visible eye bulges indignantly. "He was a medium sort of giant, I suppose, but a giant nonetheless. You'd recognise him yourself I'd wager. Stupid fellow, used to hang around Hogwarts. Hogface, Hedgebum -"

"Hagrid?!"

"That's the fellow."

The name conjures such a barrage of thoughts that he needs to get to his feet and pace for a moment. It's hard to sort through it all, even with the clarity that the dementors have left in their wake, but one thought keeps rising to the top: Harry. He left his godson in Hagrid's care and if Hagrid is in here then who can account for child that he swore and failed to protect and...

McTavish is still peering out from under the door when he drops back down to the floor.

"You're certain it's Hagrid?"

"Never forget a face, do I?" The eye opens wider and Sirius can see a large blood vessel throbbing against the unsettlingly perfect white but he isn't able to reply.

James invades his mind, but not the coldly reproachful dementor-spun James he has become accustomed to. This James slings and arm around his shoulder and tells him Harry needs his godfather and that they know he will keep him safe. Only he won't, he can't as long as he is in here and the knowing of it makes him pull at his hair in frustration.

The need to not be in the cell becomes overwhelming and he starts to feel the walls closing in on him the way they did when they first brought him here, when all he could think about was Peter and he tore his nails off trying to get out.

He becomes Padfoot. All feelings are better managed in dog form, but even then he can't help throwing himself against the door and scrabbling at the walls.

"Having a hootenanny in there are you, Black? Well, each to his own."

He hears McTavish distantly but he doesn't have the concentration to understand speech. He whimpers and starts to scratch at the ground by the door. It's damp and brittle and a portion of the stone comes away in his paws. He has dug down further before he realises what this means.

He stops. He needs his own mind to deal with this and changes back, continuing to dig at the floor with his trembling human hands.

He hits more stone fairly quickly, this time solid and impossible to crack, but not before he's made a sizeable dip in the floor. Nowhere near deep enough for a man, even one as emaciated as he is these days, but for a dog it might just about be doable.

It is all he can do to stop himself from transforming then and there, squeezing under the door and making a bolt for freedom. Merlin knows he has never been known for his measured decisions, but James' son is depending on him not to fuck this up like he did the rest and the fact is once he is out of his cell he still won't be able to fit through the iron barred door at the end of the corridor. The only possible outcome of that action will be to betray his advantage and earn himself a week on half rations at best or the kiss at worst.

He sits back against the wall and curls his hands about his knees.

Think.

Remus would have known what to do. Remus had patience and common sense to spare. But Remus is dead. Sirius will probably never know how, but he certainly knows, felt the tie between them break like a muggle phone line and subsequently lost another piece of his mind he will probably never recover.

Not now. The dementors will be back to feed on that memory and the rest of them at any minute.

 _Think_.

Hagrid is too big for the cells on this corridor, but there is another level below him and he can get to that staircase without needing to get through the iron door. Once Hagrid is installed there they will need to begin their rounds at the other end of the prison. This means he should have about half an hour before they miss him, and even if they visit Hagrid's cell they will be unlikely to detect an extra presence.

He can go to Hagrid, talk with him, formulate a plan. This he can do.

He transforms and Padfoot rushes to the door, tail wagging. Then, just before he crawls into the trench he stops and rushes back to his straw pallet. He always saves back a little of his food each day to have before their weekly hour of exercise and it seems wrong to go to Hagrid without an offering of some sort. He picks up this week's collection in his mouth - mostly porridge with a couple of lumps of cheese wrapped in an old handkerchief - and makes for the door.

It's easier than he anticipated. He must have lost weight even in dog form since coming here and in an exhilaratingly short space of time he is padding along the empty corridor.

"Black!" He hears McTavish hiss. "Black there's a scraggy old mutt found its way in here! Do you see it? If you stun it close to the door maybe we can drag it over and have it for supper!"

But he has passed his door and the next and the next and finds himself quickly on the staircase, so excited he can hardly put one paw in front of the other.

Then he feels them, the change in atmosphere, the lurch of despair. He stiffens. If there is anywhere to run he seems to have lost the ability anyway. At least five of them are gliding up the stairs and even through Padfoot's mind he understands enough to know the only outcome now can be that they will discover him here and they will eat his soul. They have orders to do it on sight should a prisoner be discovered at large.

He's seen the kiss for himself countless times. Prisoners are summoned to watch when it takes place, keeps them pliant or it's meant to. More often than not though Bella and the rest appear to find it more entertaining than intimidating.

They are getting closer. A tangle of disparate memories surge through him, though as Padfoot he finds them more difficult to understand; Moony standing brittle and tearful at the door to their cottage with all of his worldly possessions inside a chest-achingly small bag, the coils of the hanging candles in his Grimmauld Place bedroom, counting them with gritted teeth as he waits out one of his mother's punishment curses, Lily's eyes large and afraid...

It takes a moment for him to realise that they are moving past him, as if they do not even know he's there.

He stands still for an age, his fur on end. He doesn't dare move again until the dark feeling shifts. Could it be that as Padfoot they can't sense him? It's something else he must store away to think about later. For now, he presses on.

Hagrid is in the end cell. Sirius can see him through the bars sitting with his back against the pillar but the gaps are slightly too narrow for him to pass through. He doesn't waste any time, transforms and lobs the precious parcel of food towards him.

The large figure gives a yelp and turns, panicked.

"Who's there?"

The face, even in the darkness is so familiar, so evocative of everything he has missed and longed for that he doesn't know what to say. He moves forward to reach for his friend through the bars instead, but the figure recoils.

"Black," Hagrid spits scrabbling backwards to the the furthest corner of his cell which, given the size of him, is not particularly far.

Sirius feels a familiar lurch at the rejection but doesn't at once understand why Hagrid is looking at him in that way. The blood rushing in his ears is making it difficult to focus and he realises now that there is something he ought to remember, something other than the Potters and Remus and revenge, but he has to keep his cool, mustn't show weakness, first rule of the Blacks or the Order or marauders...or something....

"Afternoon," he says with as much composure as he can muster. He tries for a grin but it must come off madder than he means because the man shrinks back even further. He was never a reassuring type, he supposes, even before Azkaban.

Hagrid clenches a fist and then, with a viciousness Sirius has never seen on his face before, spits.

It lands at his feet in a large shiny globule which he regards with some fascination.

"Smiling," says Hagrid, tears glistening in his eyes, "after all you done!"

After all he's...

Of course, he thinks, of course. And then suddenly the notion that he could have somehow forgotten that of all things seems so absurd that he can't help laughing, and once he begins to laugh he can't seem to stop.

"Them muggles! All them muggles and not to mention poor brave Peter Pet-"

Well that does it.

"Pettigrew!" He slams his fist against the bars so hard he feels something in his hand crunch. "The rat will get what's coming to him, I'll see to that."

_Indoor voice please._

Remus' voice from a lifetime ago, exasperated and fond. Merlin knows where his mind dug that up from but it is enough to centre him, enough to remember that he is here not just to help Hagrid - which he has hitherto failed to do - but to Gather Information. Research: always Moony's favourite part of the operation.

He takes a deep breath and attempts to adopt a more relaxed pose, opts for rakish, leaning back slightly against the wall and realises too late it's probably a bit Slytheriny.

"I left two of my belongings in your care last time we met."

Hagrid's brow furrows at the change of tone.

"What on earth are yeh yammerin' about?"

"My motorbike and my godson."

The enormous hands curl into fists and Sirius has to stop himself from taking a step back.

"'Arry's no godsnothing o' yours!"

"Where is he?"

"You won't get nothin' from me Sirius Black, d'yeh hear? 'Arry's safe at 'ogwarts where you'll never find 'im."

"Hogwarts?"

Hagrid swears under his breath with uncharacteristic vulgarity, but Sirius barely notices.

"I assumed with Remus dead now he'd be with Lily's family."

"Remus dead? Remus Lupin?"

He hasn't felt hope for a long time and he scarcely dares to probe any further now, but the honest look of bemusement on Hagrid's face...

"I...I believed him to be dead..."

"Thought you'd offed him too? Well young Lupin's alive, lad. And all the better for being rid of you."

He barely hears the rest. Remus Lupin. Not dead. The warmth in his chest threatens to overwhelm him, but he has a job to do. He holds on to the bars of the cell doors to support the sudden weakness in his legs.

"If you're telling the truth then why isn't Harry with him? Hogwarts is no place for a baby."

Something flashes in Hagrid's eyes then, something frighteningly like pity, but he doesn't answer.

"Tell me!"

He rattles the bars a bit for effect but his heart's not in it. Something is niggling at his subconscious, filling his belly with dread ages before the question is deposited at the front of his mind. His hands stop moving and clench the bars so tightly that his fingers turn white. He barely dares to ask it.

"What year is it Hagrid?"

He looks for a moment like he isn't going to tell him that either, but Hagrid was always a soft hearted fool. His voice is almost kind when he replies.

"It's nineteen-ninety-three, lad."

For a horribly long time he can only stare at the man, who won't meet his eye. Twelve years. He imagined, what, three, four at most? That's when he has thought of it at all of course. Azkaban does that to you, makes you forget to wonder and all the while time dribbling away like a forgotten tap.

"You're lying," he whispers.

Anything is better than the notion of Remus Lupin changing alone through a hundred moons, of James and Lily's child grown to awkward, sweaty adolescence without a soul to guide him. Not to mention what might have drawn Hagrid to a crime worthy of incarceration in this place.

"No lad." It's the pity on Hagrid's face that proves it. He thinks for a moment that's he's going to laugh again, but then his legs give way and he staggers backwards.

"I'm sorry...I have to..."

He looks round once more at Hagrid and runs for the familiar safety of his cell.

 

\----------

No surprise where the dementors begin their work this night. The warm bundle in his arms, this last vulnerable scrap of James, recognises his uncle Padfoot and smiles an uncoordinated baby smile He doesn't seem to feel the scar or the loss or the incomprehensible awfulness of it all. Harry does cry a little when he hands him over to Hagrid, who is weeping with rather less restraint, but Sirius himself is only emptiness.

He watches them disappear together against the moon over and over but it is a memory that has been probed and examined many times and there is little to be gleaned. He barely felt a thing that first night, as if everything inside of him had been sucked out with the news of their deaths.

They twist backwards.

"Pete's right." James lies back and takes a long drag from the spliff in his hand. "This place is quite girly."

Sirius looks around the little cottage with a contented shrug.

"Moony insisted on furnishing it himself, got everything second hand. I'd say it's more...bohemian."

"Bohemian," Peter scoffs. "I mean - no offence Padfoot - but what the bugger is this?" He stretches one stumpy leg to prod the pouf in the corner and the Sirius with his face against the fetid rushes of the cell floor snarls and digs his nails into his wrist, while this poor idiotic Sirius only grins languidly and moves to lie with his head on James' lap because knows - believes - it makes Wormtail jealous.

"I'm afraid it requires a true progressive to appreciate its pineapple and banana motif."

James barks a laugh that nearly tips Sirius off of the sofa.

"I suppose nothing sticks it to Grimmauld Place quite like a multi-coloured footstool with a tropical fruit design," he says.

"See. Prongs thinks it's edgy and subversive."

Peter snorts and turns over on to his belly. "Prongs thinks Cliff Richard is edgy and subversive."

"Fair," says Sirius after a moment's consideration. This time James' huff is enough to roll Sirius right off the sofa and he lands in an undignified tangle on Peter's legs.

"Get off you lump!"

"Enjoy it Wormy," he says, brushing himself off. "It's probably the most erotic encounter you'll have all year."

Peter's face falls a little as James joins in his laughter.

"You're a one to talk," he scowls. "Where's Moony tonight? Taken on extra duties again?"

Sirius feels his chest tighten a little.

"You know where he is," he says and tries to focus on rolling another joint and not on Remus Lupin, wearer of cardigans, sleeping outside in the woods of god-knows-where with a bunch of violent anti-establishment werewolves.

"Don't you find it a bit, well, odd?"

"Find what odd?"

Remus will say it's his own fault for poking fun at him, that Peter is deliberately pushing his buttons, but he's spent these past ten days caught between fear for him and a sort of desperate childish outrage at being left behind, and it's always harder to be reasonable without Remus.

"I just mean that what with Dumbledore so insistent that everyone takes their scheduled days off..."

Sirius carefully puts down the spliff and fixes the boy with his flintiest stare. Usually he can have him squirming in seconds but recently...

"You've got to admit he has a point," says James, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.

"You're joking."

"Nobody's saying he's a secret death eater Pads, but for his sake we should keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't get too...involved..."

"Involved," Sirius echoes coldly.

Emboldened by James' support, Peter reaches casually for the spliff and adds: "It's just he's never been around his own kind before -"

"His own - Merlin can you hear yourselves? This is Moony we're talking about, not a fucking hippogriff."

James at least has the decency to look sheepish but he can't be truly angry with him. It has barely been a week since he and Lily nearly died. Not not on order business, not in a random attack but in a clear and calculated hit.

"I know," says James. "I'm sorry. I only meant -"

"Forget it." He pulls the joint nimbly from Peter's fat little fingers and passes it to James before the boy can say a word. "He'll be back in a couple of days for the full moon. Everything's always better when we're all together - unless of course Prongette..."

James grins.

"If she hasn't already popped I might have to give next month a miss, but I'll be there on Wednesday. And so will Pete, won't you?"

Peter Pettigrew chews absently on one of his fingernails. Most of them are swollen and red where he has pulled the nail too far down. A nervous habit.

"Wouldn't miss it," he says.

  
\-----------

James and Peter leave a little after one in the morning but Sirius isn't ready for sleep. Feeling absurdly lonely, he picks up the open bottle of red with his glass and goes to visit the mermaids in the bathroom.

Lily of course was the one who came up with the spell to animate the figures they painted on the wall together. They like to congregate next to the bath these days.  
Sirius' silver tailed merman in a crudely painted pair of sunglasses swims a loop the loop in greeting and prods a sleeping mer-rat awake while Remus' pale faced sea girl hovers tentatively behind them. James' typically inappropriate contribution is a fully naked human man who, when he isn't pursuing Lily's rosy cheeked mermaid, is either streaking across the bathroom wall or hiding shame faced in the corner depending on his mood. Today he gives Sirius a wink and dives after his love who rolls her eyes and swims away.

Sirius gets into the empty bath and pours himself a glass of wine.

He received a letter from Remus through the muggle post this afternoon containing an incomplete crossword puzzle and a poorly drawn picture of a mangy black dog with the word YOU written insultingly beneath. It's not much, but he knows even this much communication is a risk. Moody would have their heads.  
He pulls it from his pocket and looks again at the crossword. It has been completed in Remus' spindly, slanted hand save for one clue: _six down, Unmarried woman (4)_

Sirius grins as mentally he fills in MISS. It's so typically Moony, but it does little to ease his mind. Muggle letters can take days to arrive.

The mer-paintings notice the shift in the air before Sirius does, and scatter. There's a sort of dulling in the light, like the moment before a flash of lightning, and then a terrific crack and a thud as somebody apparates into the living room.

With the wards up, only his wand and Remus's can facilitate an arrival into their cottage.

Sirius scrambles out of the bath and grabs for his wand. Remus is in the living room, covered in blood and supporting a barely conscious young girl in his arms.

"Title of the last book you threw at my head," Sirius says, aware that the hand pointing his wand is shaking.

"It was your book. Quidditch something, Jesus I don't know..." When Sirius nods he says: "Clear the table."

"You're hurt -"

"She's hurt. Do it. And clean water. Accio towels."

Sirius obeys with a flick of his wand and together they hoist the young girl on to the dining table. She's grotesquely pale and bleeding excessively from a wound to her belly. As the towels arrive, Remus packs them tightly against the jumper he is already using to try and stem the flow of blood.

"I need to get her to Pomfrey but we can't apparate directly without permission so we'll have to floo..."

"What happened? Is she a -"

Remus rounds on him with a look that is as savage as the wolf itself.

"Is she a _what?_ "

"Nothing," he says quickly and kneels down at the fireplace.

"John..." he hears the girl cry weakly. "Am I going to die?"

Remus murmurs soothingly but the towels in his hands are turning crimson at an alarming rate. To his relief, Madam Pomfrey's face appears swiftly in the floo.

"Sirius Black! What's happened? Is it Remus?"

"He's fine. But there's a girl, she -" he scrambles over to Remus. "Talk to Pomfrey. I'll take care of her."

He takes the towel in one hand and grips her hand with the other. Her face is pale against a tangle of dark brown hair. She has a nose stud in the shape of a tiny crescent moon. She can't be much older than seventeen

"John..?"

He grimaces. A middle name is a recklessly insufficient cover for such a dangerous operation and the carelessness makes him almost angry. How dare Remus take such a risk when Sirius needs him so badly? But it isn't the time.

"John's not going anywhere love," he says. "And I'm here too."

He glances over to the fireplace. "I'm certain she will not be admitted into hospital so close to the full moon," Remus is saying. His coat is threadbare and worn, and he's been sleeping in it by the looks of things. He should have bought him another, he can't help thinking, insisted he accept it.

Madam Pomfrey nods.  
"I agree, but abdominal wounds can often appear worse than they truly are. I will send you over some supplies and -"

"No use. It was silver. Part of it is still lodged in there and nothing will get it out." He raises one blistered hand to make the point. "Her only chance is Hogwarts."

"You know I cannot allow that," she says gently.

Remus clenches his fist. From the distance Sirius can see that some of the blood on his clothes is his own. He bites his lip and turns back to the girl, smoothing her hair from her face. "Stay with us love."

Remus' voice is rising.

"Cannot or will not, Poppy?"

"Be reasonable. I have a responsibility to the children in my care. Even if there was time to go through the necessary security checks it would be...but there is not. I will give you some treatments. It is the best I can do."

"Then she will will die."

"I am doing everything in my power to help her."

Her face disappears for a moment and Remus rubs his blistered hand across his face without seeming to feel it.

"Remus," he says softly. "She needs you."

Remus nods and stands shakily. The girl's breathing is getting fainter, her eyes less focussed.

Sirius trades places and kneels by the floo to wait for Pomfrey. She is back within minutes with two bottles.

"The blue may stop the silver from taking a hold, but I regret to say there is precious little to be done for her regardless of whether or not we bring her to Hogwarts. The purple will only ease her pain."

Sirius takes them with a nod and the hearth grows dark.

The girl is almost gone by the time he reaches the table. He resists placing a hand on Remus's rigid shoulders and raises her head to pour the contents of the blue vial gently down her throat.

"What's her name?" he asks gruffly.

"Laura."

He nods. "This one's just for the pain," he says, lifting the second potion.

"I'll do it."

Laura stirs a little when Remus lifts her face again.

"We weren't bothering anyone," she murmurs. "Why did they come?"

"Don't worry about that now," says Remus. "Let us look after you."

"Is he one of us? Your friend?"

When Remus doesn't answer, Sirius makes an attempt at a grin. It feels ghoulish.

"'Course I am," he says, but the question, and Remus' silence registers. Something for later.

Remus wipes her face with his handkerchief and unstoppers the second vial. "Drink this."

It barely seems worth it. She is fading fast and appears to be well beyond any sort of discomfort, but Sirius can sense the tightly bound despair and rage in Remus, understands this need to have done her every possible service.

There is no defining moment. Remus strokes her hair and Sirius keeps hold of her hand and the girl, Laura, simply breathes more faintly until she stops altogether.

When it is clear she is gone he looks to Remus. The boy is rigid and ashen and he wants to reach for him but feels in the pit of his stomach it won't be welcomed, turns and hits the wall instead.

"I have to tell the others." Remus' voice is tightly controlled.

Sirius takes a deep breath and tries to be the sensible one for once.

"You need to sit down first. Let me look at that gash on your head -"

He raises his hand to sweep his hair to one side but Remus flinches away angrily.

"Don't you understand what just happened?"

Sirius' response comes out colder than he intends, as it always does when anyone rejects him.

"A girl I've never seen before has just bled to death on our dining table. If some subtleties have escaped my notice then -"

"Pomfrey refused to help her because she was a werewolf."

Sirius runs a hand through his hair.

"That's ridiculous...Moony the woman nursed you through every full moon for seven years!"

"Which makes it unforgivable."

Sirius almost never notices the height difference between them; Remus tends to slouch, hang back, keep his eyes down, but now he towers over him, incandescent with rage. He has to steel himself before he looks up into his face.

"It would have been the same for anyone else -" he begins, but Remus gives an incredulous laugh.

"If you believe that," he says, "then you're no better than any other human."

That stuns him. He opens his mouth to reply but Remus pushes him aside with disgusted snarl and storms out the front door, slamming it behind him. It is a few moments before he can bring himself to follow him out, but he has already apparated.

Sirius stands and breathes the night air for a moment or two. The cottage is set back a little from the road and the only light is from the moon which hangs large and low like an overripe fruit. He needs a smoke but he knows that however angry Remus is, wherever he has gone, he won't leave Laura untended for long.

He makes it over the gate with little effort. He has no idea if Mrs Harris' prize winning rockery is worthy of the accolades she is always boasting about, but he grabs a fistful of different flowers, stuffs them into the waistband of his jeans and scrambles back over just as her Colin starts barking, landing in a painful heap on the grass. Sirius has scrapped with him as Padfoot once or twice and the dog has always been able to see through his flimsy human disguise.

He does falter on the threshold, flowers in hand. He's seen his share of bodies since joining the order, but the idea of the strange dead girl in his own front room unnerves him.

It's easier once he steps into the silence of the cottage. The girl's eyes are already closed and she looks serene, comfortable even. He uses scourgify for her soiled clothes, but it doesn't feel right to do the same for the blood and grime on her face so he fills a basin with hot water and tends to her by hand, finishing by smoothing down her hair.

There is, thankfully, a clean sheet in the laundry cupboard that isn't Bagpuss-themed and he covers her carefully to the chest, placing her arms over the top. When it's as neat as he can manage, he lies the flowers across her middle with a few of the petals and, as an afterthought, uses Lily's spell to enchant a few candles to hover above like lanterns.

Remus appears in the living room as he is lighting the final one with his wand and the sight of the girl lying clean and peaceful seems to drain all of the anger from him. He looks so crumpled that Sirius can't help himself from going to him and holding him as he cries. Remus is past resisting.  
He's missed this so unbearably, the reassuring warmth of his body, his smell. He tries not to think it, but he is so grateful, so relieved that Remus has come back to him; that it is the girl lying dead and not the dirty, sniffling boy in his arms.

"This is my fault," says Remus.

Everything is always his fault; Pete asleep with his face in a bowl of cornflakes after a moon night, Snape's arse-headed blunder into the shack, the whispers from their neighbours. Sirius smooths his hair from his face and shushes him but Remus shakes his head.

"I convinced them not to accept Vo-his offer."

"The death eaters did this?"

"All the death eaters had to do was tip off the nearest village that there was an illegal werewolf camp in the woods."

"Merlin..." Pitchforks he thinks.

"Leave the violence to the ordinary wizarding folk of Grindleford and any werewolves who make it out alive will pledge their undying allegiance to you-know-who." Remus laughs then, and it is one of the most awful things he has ever seen.

"It's not your fault."

"If I hadn't gone there Laura would still be alive. And she isn't the only one."

Sirius bites his lip and wishes Lily were here. She would know what to say.

Remus breaks away and goes over to Laura.

"We'll need to inform the Ministry," he says in a dull voice.

Sirius frowns.

"No," he says as Remus' eyes dart up to his.

"But they will want to -"

"Which is exactly why we won't be telling them. We'll track down her people and bring them here. Then we will help them take where they want her to rest."

"But the Order-"

"Fuck the Order Moony," he snarls. "We'll tell Dumbledore about it afterwards if you're worried he'll take away your prefect badge."

It's barely a smile, but some warmth returns to Remus' eyes, the wall between them lowers a little.

He nods.

"Alright," he says.

\-----------

Chess with Bella happens unexpectedly. It is a particularly cold afternoon. They are trudging through sleet in the exercise yard, faces bowed against the wind's wet stinging lick when one of the shivering figures by his side murmurs: "C4."  
  
He knows nothing good can come from engaging with the owner of that voice, keeps his eyes on his boots as she edges closer.

"That will be your move of course," she hisses in his ear. "You lost your right to _black_ a long time ago."

"English opening," he says against his better judgement. "Makes it too easy."

"We'll see." He can hear the smile in her voice and shudders. "I'll begin boringly too. E5," she says, speeding off before he can reply.

He spends the next week in his cell trying not to give it any more thought, but it is like a light has gone on in his long darkened mind and everything starts to creak into action of its own accord.  
He does attempt a token disinterest when she approaches him again the following week, pretends his response is spontaneous and not the fruit of hours of obsessive strategising. The fact that she doesn't call him out proves at least that she needs this as much as he does.  
  
For months the game is all he can think about, at least when he he is at liberty to choose. In spite of who she is, perhaps even because of it, he is hooked. Bella is frighteningly intelligent and a ferocious opponent. The fact that he despises her only fuels his need to win.  
It's probably the reason it takes him so long to figure out her real motivation. He's so elated that he doesn't even realise she has let him win until it is too late.  
There are some broken boxes in the corner of the yard offering a meagre semblance of privacy that inmates sometimes use to trade food for dream potions or cigarettes. She's walked him there and has him with his back against the wall before he has time to register what's going on.

"I expect you shall want to claim your prize now," she purrs.

Sirius pulls away from her with a jolt.  
  
"Bella what the -"  
  
"They say you're not a real man, but I know better. You're a Black."

"I'm not a Black," he says. "And even if I wanted this, your husband -"

"Will not find out. I have taken far worthier lovers than you. Though a child of blood such as ours would meet the approval even of -"

He cuts her off with a short, horrified laugh. "You're a lunatic," he says, marvelling at how the he has allowed himself to blunder into this situation. He wriggles to the side, putting as much space between them as he can. Bella's face twists into a sneer.

"So it's true then I suppose, what they say about you and the werewolf."

Sirius feels the growl at the back of his throat, says nothing.

"I should have had him spayed for making a mockery of a son of our house."

He raises a hand to hit her and it's only the fact that she laughs at him that stays it. He feels sick, and yet suddenly everything becomes grotesquely clear.

"Is that what happened to Rodolphus?"

The laughing stops, and he knows he has hit the mark.

"Your husband can't give you a child and nobody else in here but me is of the appropriate pedigree am I right?"

Bellatrix goes pale.

"I'm warning you," she whispers.

"And if you ever get out you'll be well past -"

"Stop it!" She steps back and reaches instinctively for her wand, forgetting momentarily that she no longer has one. Sirius laughs until she has stumbled out of sight.

-

Hagrid is being terrorised by the Lestrange brothers.

Sirius has not seen him in the exercise yard before. All prisoners spend a month or two in their cells before they are docile enough to be allowed out. Sirius notes with a grim helplessness that more time must have passed again than he realised.

He has taken to keeping back even more of his food, in the hope that he might get Padfoot thin enough to slip through the corridor bars. What then, he has no idea, but the extra hunger reminds him of his purpose, though now he is outside it is apparent that it has also left him rather woozy. He has no desire to go near Hagrid in this state, not after their last encounter.

Still, when Bellatrix joins her husband and brother in law he feels the fire light up in his empty belly. It's been months since he last spoke with her but the memory still smarts. Hate, he supposes, can keep a man warm.

His cousin's eyes narrow as he approaches them but she keeps her mouth shut.

"Join us in some target practice?" Rodolphus never gives much away, but his brother lost his mind years ago. Rabastan seems to have lost interest in flinging mud and is rolling around in it instead, screaming with laughter and reciting the female line of the Lestrange family tree. Hagrid is backed into the corner watching all four of them with wary eyes.

"I won't if it's all the same to you." Lestrange doesn't mistake his tone. He bristles and steps towards him. Sirius has always been short for a Black, but it's never stopped him using his fists.

Nothing will do him more good, he thinks, than an honest scrap. Even one he will certainly lose.

Bella comes behind her husband and nibbles on his ear.

"Ignore him," she hisses. "He's nothing but a filthy blood-traitor. And a queer."

Sirius smiles widely.

"As you learned to your great disappointment, cousin."

He sees it before she is able to hide it, the flicker of panic before she smiles.

"You disappointed us all. You disgraced your family, you were too cowardly to join the Dark Lord when he -"

"My sweet old mum used to say a pureblood girl is nothing but a disappointment if she doesn't produce an heir."

The both stiffen. Even Rabastan ceases his howling.

"Tread carefully, Black," says Rodolphus. "You insult my wife." Behind him, Bellatrix stares with wide eyes, mouths the word _please_. James would probably have urged him to pity her, Remus too no doubt, but Sirius wouldn't be Sirius if he didn't disappoint. He offers him a charming smile.

"Actually your wife assures me the problem is yours. Asked me to help as a matter of fact."

Rodolphus turns white.

"You lie."

"If you say so," he shrugs. "Come on Hagrid."

The half-giant, who has been quietly following the exchange registers the attention with a start. He looks between them warily then seemingly decides that Sirius is his safest option for the time being and follows.

"Think we almost got away with it," he says.

Hagrid looks terrible. He is already thinner and his eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot. There's grey in his beard too, but Sirius can't be sure how new that is.

He reaches into his cloak and takes out his bundle of food. Usually he trades it for cigarettes but it's clear Hagrid needs it badly. This week it's bread and kippers, fused together with semolina. He's so hungry that the aroma almost weakens his resolve.

"Here," he says, pressing it into Hagrid's enormous hands. The half-giant looks puzzled and not a little revolted. The old kippers are quite strong smelling, he supposes, if you're not used to it.

"For you," Sirius says encouragingly. "Go ahead."

Hagrid frowns, then he removes the rag that the precious food is wrapped in and lobs it clear across the courtyard. It splatters across Rabastan Lestrange's face with a noise that makes him wince.

"Merlin's merkin! What the bloody hell did you do that for?"

"I thought you wanted...you threw one at me the other day..."

"It was a gift!"

Hagrid still looks confused but there is no more time for discussion. Both Lestrange brothers are nearly upon them.

"You're a big lad," he murmurs. "You much good in a fight?"

Before the figure at his side can answer, a pebble flung by Rabastan bounces off his forehead. Hagrid lands in the dirt with a terrific thud and doesn't get up again.

 _Well then_ , he thinks as both brothers run at him together.

Sirius rolls up his sleeves and grins.

\-----------

He wakes up to a stabbing feeling in his gut. It takes him a moment to realise that he is still in the courtyard and Bellatrix has her foot on his stomach. Everything hurts.

"Beloved cousin." He tries for a dashing smile but one of his eyes appears to be swollen shut.

The mad bitch presses her heel down harder and he can't help letting out a shout of pain. It's hard to know where the worst of it is coming from though exactly. Ribs perhaps?  
He tries to piece together what happened. Evidently he lost the fight- that much was a forgone conclusion - but humiliatingly? Probably. Though he vaguely remembers breaking somebody's nose.

"I asked you not to tell," she hisses. "I warned you. I _begged_ you."

Sirius laughs.  
"I'm not a death eater," he says, "but that doesn't mean I'm nice."

Bellatrix looks like she might like to inflict more pain. He knows she's good at it even without a wand but she removes her foot and looks down at him with a cool, measured stare.

"One day, cousin, " she says, 'I will kill you."

\-----------

The next time they go to the courtyard, Hagrid is gone.

 

 

 


	10. Kincardineshire 1985

"I estimate that we have four minutes to flee before Quirrell returns from the lavatory."

Remus tries for a reproachful look.

"Don't be horrid," he says, pouring another glass of wine. Snape rolls his eyes and sighs with an air of long suffering resignation.

"How tedious you are."

For somebody so timid, Quirinus Quirrell has a peculiar talent for monopolising the conversation. On his return he succeeds in talking without pause for interjection about an article he has recently had published in the Journal of Modern Wizardry for a full twenty eight minutes.

"Extraordinary," Snape mutters sidelong, barely discreet, "considering the 'essay' in question is a mere two rolls long."

"And that's why I s-s-selected Lestrange Manor to continue my research," Quirrell continues, oblivious.

"How interesting," says Snape.

"Dumbledore in fact, has been very encouraging..."

Remus raises an eyebrow at that. It has been made abundantly clear that their work for the old man is of the highly sensitive variety: scour the Manor for anything Voldemort might have left behind in case of his death. Tell no-one. The idea that Dumbledore may have sent Quirrell here too doesn't seem right.

"Dumbledore sent you here?"

It's an innocent enough question but Snape apparently finds even that indiscreet. He can feel the glower without even needing to turn around, which rankles a little. As if he, Remus, needs lessons in keeping secrets.

"Well not as s-such." Quirrell's eyes dart between them nervously. "But - though muggle studies is a complex and nuanced subject - I strongly suspect the great man has plans for me in -"

"The defence against the dark arts post has been filled," Snape practically snarls.

"Ah but - and this I trust will remain between we three - I happen to know Snorbart has already accepted a post at Durmstrang for the next academic year."

"What's wrong with Hogwarts?" Remus asks, in lieu of a response from his companion. It's something that has become increasingly apparent these past few weeks: when Snape is angry he stops being able to communicate. His back straightens, his face goes rigid and he closes up like a seething, muttering black hole of resentment.

"Oh it's Dumbledore of course. His methods can seem rather...well woolly. Especially to the Europeans..."

Remus can scarcely suppress a bitter smile at that. There was nothing woolly about the man's 'methods' during the war, that was certain. He looks sideways and Snape too is nursing his drink with a certain sardonic knowingness. That at least is a matter on which they can agree.

"Well best of luck with it," Remus smiles. "I'm sure you'll make a wonderful defence teacher."

The smaller man flushes with pleasure. Snape scowls.

"I confess that I have already happened upon some extraordinary finds up at the house - as I dare say you lads have too?"

"Oh many things, yes," Remus lies breezily. "We must compare notes at some point."

"Severus, you never told me your what your friend here does for a living."

"I haven't had the opportunity."

"I'm between jobs," says Remus, attempting to mask the other man's rudeness. "Though until recently I was a teacher of sorts myself."

"Oh indeed," says Quirrell, his mouth tightening.

"Nothing like the lofty heights of Hogwarts," he adds quickly, sensing a sudden hostility. "I worked down in Manchester with people with magical conditions - part veela, splinch victims, lycanthropes and the like. The magic I taught was very basic."

Quirrell visibly relaxes knowing now that he is in the company of an inferior.

"How nice," he says, patronisingly. "And talking of lycanthropes, I found something rather exciting just today!"

"Oh?"

Quirrell looks around the bar briefly. The muggle men are singing a rather unflattering song about a sports team called 'the dons' and the wizard behind the bar is dozing over a glass of port. Satisfied by their relative privacy, he reaches into a garish carpet bag at his chair and pulls out a tiny parcel wrapped in a lurid pink and orange scarf.

Remus senses what is inside before Quirrell has finished unwrapping it. For a brief moment he panics, has an impulse to run and Snape, unusually perceptive, puts a steadying hand on his wrist before he can see it through.

"A moonlight box," says Snape disinterestedly. "How arcane."

"Ever seen one of these, Lupin?"

"I have." That one in fact. He keeps his voice as light as he can. "Illegal are they not? And for good reason."

Quirrell fingers the ornate moon engravings on the lid almost lovingly.  
  
_He won't dare to open it. He can't._

"I shall of course present it to the ministry on my return. They are very rare objects."

"They are instruments of torture," he can't help saying.

"Only to werewolves."

Remus grinds his fingers into his fists.

"Only to werewolves," he echoes, disgusted.

Quirrell touches his arm and he almost flinches.

"Of course you have worked with the creatures on the front line as it were. Forgive my insensitivity - my interest is purely academic and from _that_ viewpoint this artefact is a most intriguing and ingenious means of exposing dark magic. The captured moonlight within -"

"Causes werewolves to partially transform, while maintaining full consciousness. Yes, I know."

He's so livid that he has almost forgotten the danger he is in.

Snape smooths down his robes, bored of their discussion. "I would like to see inside."

"The pain is said to be..." Remus tails off as the meaning of the man's words sink in. He opens his mouth to reply and then closes it again. Quirrell hesitates for a moment, his eyes glittering, and Remus draws a ragged breath. He won't give Snape the satisfaction of making dash for it.

"Alas Severus," Quirrell says eventually. "The moonlight contained within is finite. It would be grossly indulgent of me to open it in here."

Quirrell rewraps the wooden box and places it back in his bag with ostentatiously reverential care.

"A pity," says Snape.

"Indeed," says Quirrell.

Remus says nothing.

When neither of them attempt to fill the expanding silence, Quirrell stands.

"I think it's time to refill my glass," he smiles tremulously. "I would offer to purchase a round but I see you two still have almost a full bottle there."

"Serendipitous," mutters Snape. Remus doesn't look up until the little man has disappeared into the crowd at the bar.

"You shit," he says.

Snape turns a page of the newspaper before him languidly.

"You have of course leapt to the conclusion that I was attempting to expose you."

"It wouldn't be the first time." He is rather alarmingly close to completely losing his cool which, he dimly acknowledges, will not do at all. Snape's eyes narrow.

"It would not be the first time my help has been met with suspicion and ingratitude either," he spits. "I recall one occasion where your traitor-boyfriend -"

"Enough!"

He stands and Snape shrinks back a little, as if expecting to be struck. Remus pulls on his old coat and picks up his book. As an afterthought, he reaches for the wine - his round - and stuffs it into his bag.

"I'm leaving."

"Evidently."

On his way out, a man in a red football shirt reaches out drunkenly and grabs hold of his jacket. Remus swings round and the man's foolish grin drains from his face. He steps back submissively.

"Sorry big man," he mutters, raising his hands.

It is still over a week until the full moon, and yet both the man and Snape have sensed something of the animal in him tonight. He has, he supposes, become unaccustomed to hiding what he his these past three years. The Wythenshawe centre was a prison of sorts, but it was also the first place where he had lived in complete openness since the age of five. If he is to begin a life again, he must remember how to be careful.

The thought is not a pleasant one and once he is outside he walks briskly, trying to dispel the queasy dread that has gathered in his stomach. He intends to make it back to the Manor, but once he has jumped the dyke into the field his thoughts are calmer. The sky is bright with stars and there is only the slightest suggestion of a breeze. He sits down and pulls out the wine. This too, he thinks determinedly, is freedom and it has been sorely missed.

He can only have been sitting a quarter of an hour before he hears the swish of footsteps in the grass behind him, regular and studiously unhurried.

"You didn't last long," he says.

"You will recall that it was you, not I who insisted that we stay."

"Did you abandon him?"

"I made our excuses."

Remus, for want of a better response, extends the bottle of wine from his seat on the grass. To his surprise, Snape takes it and sits down stiffly next to him.

"Did he show you what was in his box?" he asks, childishly. The other man huffs impatiently.

"I will not deign to explain my actions to somebody who -"

"I know," he says impatient. "I'm not a complete- I know that it asking him to open it was the only sure way to make sure he didn't do it, but..."

"Then what?"

It's impossible not to appear overly emotional, ridiculous even, beside such consistently cold indifference but he's too far down that line to care.

"Must you be so hateful about it? Why do you feel the need to manipulate me like that? For sport?"

Snape takes a swig from the wine bottle and looks thoughtful.

"I don't know," he says eventually.

Feeling like that might be as close as Snape will ever come to an admission of regret, Remus stays silent; eventually lies back on the grass. He is, he realises, really rather pissed.

"Bellatrix used the moonlight box on you."

It's not a question.

"Of course she sodding used it on me."

"What was it like?"

"Really? You want to discuss this?" He puts an arm over his face as if blocking out the night will block the encroaching anxiety that always comes with that particular memory. No such luck. "The moonlight transforms any part of you that it touches but it isn't powerful enough to sustain the change. You become sort of caught in a cycle, bits of you switching between both forms."

"It is painful?"

"Imagine half the bones in your face breaking and reforming over and over again." He has unthinkingly been pulling up the grass beside him in tufts. He scatters a handful and it drifts windward, tries for a smile. "It's also rather humiliating."

"I only ask because I am experimenting with some adjustments to the wolfsbane potion."

"Using moonlight?"

"Distilled moonlight," says Snape. "You can bottle it from natural water sources at the full moon, if you are skilled enough. Wolfsbane at the moment is primarily a poison and side effects are rather unpleasant. I believe that a substance that affects only the wolf and not the man will prove to be more...efficient."

"That's wonderful."

"Don't be sentimental Lupin, my interest is purely academic."

Remus snorts and takes the bottle.

"This distilled mooonlight, is it rare?"

"Exceedingly."

"So if you are successful, your findings will make wolfsbane even more unattainably expensive for most werewolves."

"I'm a potions specialist, not a philanthropist."

"Never a truer word was spoken," says Remus. "Now shut up. I'm contemplating the night sky."

Snape takes the bottle with a contemptuous sniff, though he seems content enough to sit there, quietly. Remus must be extremely drunk, because by the time he picks up the farmer's scent, Snape is already sitting upright.

"Is our presence in this field...legitimate, Lupin?"

"Haven't the foggiest...though judging by the menacing gait of that farmer and his...erm gun..."

The first shot whistles past his face as he scrambles to his feet. Snape is close behind him and they both pelt staggering and swearing across to the other side of the field. Something sharp hits him in the leg as he jumps the dyke and he cries out. The farmer, whose faintly boozy aroma has now ceased to travel any nearer, hollers after them.

"That'll learn you! Bleeding townie yobbos!"

Remus stops running first. The stitch in his side, if he is honest, is worse than the pain in his calf but he lifts his trouser leg up gingerly to inspect the damage anyway, trying not to let on how out of breath he is.

"What is it now?" Snape growls, his breathing also laboured. Remus looks up, indignant.

"He shot me!"

"Calm down Lupin, it was only a pea gun."

If he looks carefully, there might be the slightest hint of amusement around the corners of his mouth. The man has also had the presence of mind to bring the wine. Severus Snape, it seems, is full of surprises. Remus takes it from him and sits back down on the grass.

"This is absurd," says Snape almost amiably. After a moment's hesitation he sits down next to him.

"Think of it as reclaiming our youth," he replies. "This is what we would have been doing after we left school if it wasn't for Voldemort."

"Speak for yourself. And do not use that name."

There's something about the way he says it, or maybe it's the wine. Remus reaches for the other man's sleeve and pulls it up gently. It isn't a surprise exactly, but he's never seen the mark up close and it makes his heart race a little.

"What was it like?"

Snape doesn't pull away.

"Exhilarating," he says after a moment. "At first. Then dreadful, sickening."

"You left."

"Nobody leaves," he sneers. "I reassigned my loyalties. Secretly."

"That was brave."

"Was it?"

He has fretted away hours, days even, wondering if Sirius - for all of his crimes - ever actually took the mark. The man at his side may be the only person who can answer that question but now he cannot bring himself to ask. There is so much he is afraid of knowing, even now; _how long_ , the eternal: _why_...Instead, he shrugs. He is Remus Lupin after all; prufrockian in his ability to shirk the heart of the matter, queasy with self knowledge, an eternal sideline lurker.

Snape is quiet too, sipping grimly from the wine bottle and looking straight ahead. He isn't the the stargazing type, Remus supposes, lying back again.

He remembers a summer at James' where all four of them had managed to visit together. Ostensibly they were there to help the Potters convert the house-elf wing into an inhabitable guest suite but there seemed to be endless hours to spend swimming outdoors, flying and getting drunk on Mrs Potter's homemade cider. It wasn't a perfect summer by any means. It had only been a matter of weeks since Sirius had lured Snape to the shack and the atmosphere between all four of them was volatile. James broke Sirius' nose twice, Peter - following one of those occasions - disappeared for an entire day and was found asleep in a crate of apples, and for three nights running Sirius climbed into Remus' bed for a few hours and pretended not to remember it in the morning.  
Still, when they all lay out in the field and watched the sun rise together, Remus had felt a sensation of complete and utter happiness, like a glow across his entire body and, being Remus, he took note of it as it happened and wondered if he would ever feel it again.

"Severus, have you ever experienced joy?"

If so, he cannot imagine it being a result of friendship or sunrises. Potions is the only thing that the man admits to even liking. He tries to imagine him in the throes of a rapturous epiphany dissecting a toad or sprinkling mugwort into a cauldron but it doesn't really wash.

Snape turns with characteristically languid contempt and it's only then that Remus realises he has spoken his question out loud. And used his first name.

"The third of May, nineteen seventy nine," says Snape.

Remus' skin prickles.

"The day you got the mark?"

The man looks at him silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then his mouth quirks.

"After foretelling my death, Sybill Trelawney accidentally hexed herself with an outbreak of boils."

  
\-----------

 

_He dreams that he is sitting beneath a full moon. He is well fed, rested, warm, comfortable, and he appears to be drinking an extremely good claret. All of that is so unlikely in itself that he doesn't immediately realise what it means; that the last time he actually saw a full moon through human eyes he was five years old._

_This dream feels strange somehow, like wearing clothes that don't belong to you. He sips at the wine thoughtfully, looks up at the moon. He might as well get a good look while he can, whatever this dream is for. And then a voice hisses:_

_this moment needn't be fleeting_

_but only we can make it more than a fantasy -_

  
Remus wakes up with a jolt.

The space next to him in the bed is empty, but as his senses lurch back into focus he becomes aware that the unpleasant sound on the periphery of his consciousness is in fact Snape dry-heaving into the toilet next door.

He eases himself out of bed with a grimace. He can't entirely remember how they made it back, or if they were still on speaking terms when they did, but he knocks tentatively on the bathroom door anyway.

"Seve- Snape?"

There is no answer.

He tries again and is rewarded with a muffled, exasperated croak.

"What is it?"

"Do you have any wormwood in your bag?"

The contempt expressed in the silence that follows makes him grin. He tries again.

"It's just...I can brew you something that will help," he tries. "If you like."

The door opens to reveal Snape, unshaven and dishevelled. It's an odd look for him and if it weren't for the sallow, clammy quality to his skin and the dark circles around his eyes it might almost be an improvement.

"I'm hardly desperate enough to entrust my materials to you."

Remus shrugs.

"Suit yourself. I promise it works though."

The man looks like he may be wavering.

"Or I can ask Sheena to bring us breakfast up here. Scrambled eggs perhaps-"

"Alright," Snape shudders. "Make your cursed potion. But be careful."

Remus has never actually been hungover; another unexplained werewolf phenomenon to go with the physical strength and the aversion to silver. Early on as a teenager he used to try and join in with the ostentatious post night-out languishing of his friends, but he quickly got bored. Latterly, he was usually called on to make the potion, though its actual creation was the brainchild of Lily.

He tells some of this to Snape as he mixes the concoction and the man becomes so aggressively sullen at the mention of her name that Remus is tempted to pour the potion down the sink and leave him to it.

He's never sure if it is the thought of Lily herself or her connection to James that winds Snape up. It was hardly a secret that he carried a bit of a torch for her even after her marriage, but surely enough has happened by now for the man to let all of that go.

Then again, this is Snape.

He mutters the enchantment and pours the steaming, stinking mixture into one of the empty vials, unable to resist holding it up to the light and flicking it with one finger like an expert apothecary, though he has no idea what doing so might achieve. Snape, not remotely fooled by the charlatan flourish rolls his eyes and reaches for it unceremoniously.

"I will not be imbibing this on an empty stomach," he says, heading for the door.

"You're welcome," says Remus mildly, following him. "I ah...had rather an odd dream last night," he ventures as they make their way to the staircase. The smell of fried bacon from the breakfast room has travelled all the way up and hangs queasily stagnant in the corridor. "I dreamed I wasn't a werewolf and I was rich or, well...better off anyway and -"

"I appear to have given you the impression that this is of interest to me."

"You didn't experience anything similar?"

"No."

"I only mention it because I suspect -"

The sound hits them like an explosion and both of them reach, panicked, for their wands before the noise coalesces into something more familiar.

A man's voice and a guitar, something about punks and Piccadilly. Grateful for once for the musical tutelage of young Robbie Wellcraft, Remus grins.

"Billy Idol I think," he says, enjoying Snape's angry incomprehension. Then, as abruptly as it began, the music stops. For a moment, there is the sound of a scuffle, a high pitched squeak, and then the music begins anew. They share a look before they round the corner.

The music cuts out again. Sheena' daughter Julie is standing frozen on the landing, her hand poised over the buttons of a cassette player which is placed precariously on top of the customer feedback box.

"Urm...good morning," Remus ventures.

Julie's eyes widen slightly, and then something in the customer feedback box judders and a tiny voice yelps:

_"The shame!"_

Julie, panicked, pushes down once more on the cassette player buttons but the music cuts out almost instantly this time with a little bang and a spark.

"Shit," she hisses, shaking it uselessly as a slender wisp of smoke trickles upwards.

"Can we give you a hand with something?" he tries again. It seems like she wants to refuse, but it is clear the wolf in her wants to submit to him even if she doesn't know what it means. He smiles and some of the wariness in her expression eases.

"There's something in the box," she says flatly. "I lured it here and now it won't come out. Please don't tell my mum."

Another high pitched squeak emanates from within.

_"Mistress must not try to protect Prudence from her failure! Mistress must not drown out Prudence's shame with the music of Generation X!"_

Snape rounds on Remus, his sallow features surly and inexplicably accusing.

"There is a house-elf in the hotel guest criticism box. _She_ was evidently trying to conceal it with that racket ."

"She is the cat's mother," says Julie, matching his scowl. "And what's a house-elf?"

"' _The sideboard was dusty and there was a funny smell in the breakfast room two out of five' - Mr and Mrs Meston Inverurie. Oh lazy wicked failure_!" wails Prudence the house-elf.

Remus sighs.

"Go and get some breakfast," he says to Snape. "I'll deal with this."

Thankfully the man seems happy to oblige.

"You will not neglect to obliviate?" He says. "We do not want the ministry to -"

"I won't," he lies. As far as he is concerned, the less the ministry hears about Julie the better.

Snape hesitates for a moment and then nods. "Very well."

He looks almost for a second as if he intends to make a sweep with his cloak but, remembering just in time that his tight fitting muggle jeans and shirt will not lend the same effect, turns stiffly instead, his hands clenching and unclenching as he disappears down the corridor.

_"'My family enjoyed the cooked breakfast - the black pudding in particular -" the voice in the comments box sobs, "- but found the house to be in a sorry state of disrepair and the cleanliness...w-w-wanting'...Jacqueline Harris Bridge of Don..."_

Remus pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Do you know what it is?" Asks Julie.

"Yes, it's - she's - a house-elf. Perfectly well meaning. A creature of magic."

Julie opens and shuts her mouth as Remus takes a step closer to the customer feedback box which is physically juddering with the high pitched sobs of its inhabitant.

"I dare say you've encountered a fair few odd things recently," he says.

Julie doesn't seem to hear the noise in the box any more. She holds Remus' gaze warily and nods.

"When were you bitten?"

The girl's eyes widen.

"I'm here to help," he says softly, encouraging.

Julie bites her lip, looking suddenly much younger than her sixteen or so years.

"Last May," she whispers.

"Near here?"

To his relief, the girl shakes her head. "In Spain. On holiday. But I didn't know until..."

"She didn't know until she woke up four weeks later with her face buried in a deer's spleen."

Remus almost never loses his temper but McLean barely has time to fully appear this time, before he has his wand levelled between his eyes. The ghost's wizened features twist into a cruel grin.

"You're getting cocky lad - "

Remus lets a few sparks fly from his wand as a warning and the ghost disappears with a pop.

"Don't mind him," he says. To his surprise, the girl smiles.

"He used to frighten me until I rented Ghostbusters on video. Now he cries every time I play the song."

The plaintive cries of Prudence prevent him from asking about that intriguing area muggle of culture.

_"'The tour was really boring and the picture of the dog with the pipe is stupid - Jill Stephen age 7 Class P2B'...Oh that the proud house of Lestrange is being brought so low by poor Prudence!"_

With a brief, reassuring look at Julie, he reaches for the lid of the box and opens it gingerly.

The elf is so distressed that she doesn't immediately notice the light pouring in. Eventually her crying subsides and she squints upwards, squeaking in surprise as her eyes meet his.

"Hello Prudence."

"Mister Remus!"

"Hang on," says Julie. "She knows you?"

"Prudence, what are you still doing here? Where are the others?"

The house-elf gets up shakily and pops her head out of the box. Julie's eyes widen at the sight.

"Constance and Obeisance were sold to Mister Malfoy to pay for Master and Mistress' legal fees. The others were all sent elsewhere once the house was sold."

"And you?"

Prudence raises herself up a little straighter then, and points her little nose upwards.

"Mistress...Mistress entrusted Prudence with maintaining the dignity of the house and with...and with an item of extreme importance."

"What item?"

"But Prudence has failed to look after the house. Though she must clean all of it herself and correct the shoddy work of the fat muggles - "

"Mrs Gordon and her daughter are your mistresses now," says Remus. "You know it is wicked to speak of them like that."

The house-elf breaks into fresh tears at that.

"But Prudence is torn in two! She must upkeep the dignity of the house yet undermine the useless muggle mistresses. She is bound to serve the Lestranges  _and_ the usurpers."

Remus reaches into his pocket and offers her handkerchief that Dumbledore gave him. Prudence blows her nose noisily.

Turning to Julie, he says softly. "Do you have a glove perhaps? Or an old sock you could part with?"

Julie looks confused, but she pulls off a neon pink wristband holds it out questioningly.

"Give it to her," says Remus. Julie obliges and Prudence's eyes bulge as she registers the gesture.

"No..." she whimpers. "No no no...Prudence is trying to be a good elf. Prudence is sorry she called mistress fat!"

"You've been a very good elf. Mistress Lestrange will be proud of your devotion," lies Remus solemnly. "But now you are free to find a new home."

"But who will accept a wicked free elf?"

"Julie here is going to write you a glowing reference," says Remus. "And you are to present yourself to Albus Dumbledore himself. Tell him that I sent you and he is sure to offer you a position at Hogwarts."

"At...Hogwarts?! But Prudence understood that Mister Remus was a lowly half blood creature only fit to lick the mistresses boots."

Remus smiles grimly.

"Erm...be that as it may. Dumbledore is a good friend of mine and he will be delighted to have you. But first you must entrust to me what Bellatrix gave you. If you do not, Hogwarts will not be able to take you on."

For the briefest moment Prudence looks conflicted, then she pulls a small item from her tunic and hands it to him.

It is a tiny ballerina, standing on point with a sweet painted face.

"This is what she gave you? Did she explain why?"

"Mistress Lestrange does not discuss matters of importance with the likes of Prudence. She only said I must protect it until somebody we could trust came for it. Mister Lupin is also a servant of House Lestrange and so Prudence must be doing the right thing."

The irony is not lost on Remus and he pockets the little ballerina with as earnest a look as he can muster.

"I will take care of it," he says. "Now go and get ready to leave while Julie writes your reference."

The house-elf slips out of the box and disappears with a little flash. Julie is staring at him incredulously.

"Are you going to explain any of what just happened?"

Remus sighs.

"Yes," he says. "Some. But I need to ask you first, under no circumstances to tell my ah...to tell Mr Snape what you know, or what you are."

Julie's expression sours.

"No problem there," she says. Then she looks at him more shrewdly.

"Mum reckons that he doesn't treat you right."

Remus, off guard, is caught between a choke and a laugh.

"It's ah...rather complicated." Infuriatingly, he can feel his cheeks reddening.

"That's what mum used to say about dad," she says sagely. "You seem like a nice bloke. You can do a lot better than that miserable git you know."

He can, he thinks, if a duplicitous mass murderer who needed it to be explained to him that actors did not actually live inside muggle television sets counts as 'better'; but he can only croak embarrasedly as she squeezes his shoulder.

"You just have to believe that you're worth it," she says.

\-----------

Lestrange Manor proves to be exactly the hideous treasure trove of dark magic they had feared. Over the next few days Snape and Remus find and eliminate twenty six cursed items including a piano in the reading room that causes unsightly facial rashes when exposed to Bb minor and a butter knife with alarmingly violent tendencies; they persuade a disgruntled poltergeist to release Sheena's cat Flopsy from demonic possession and they locate three illegal books on blood magic beneath a pile of dusty Reader's Digest publications. Remus even finds time to watch Ghostbusters with Julie.

And though it pains him to admit it, he and Snape work well together. They both relish the process of untangling riddles, of teasing out the hidden patterns from the confusion around them. It's not unlike the sort of thing he was tasked with in the other early months of the Order but while when working with James or Sirius he was so often forced to be a moderating force, or to contain the chaos provoked by impulsive and often downright idiotic decisions, he and Snape are a steady and meticulous unit. It would almost be satisfying work without the nagging feeling that, no matter what they turn up, there always seems to be more, and they don't seem to be getting closer to anything that Voldemort might have left behind himself. Even the little ballerina left in Prudence's charge by Bellatrix has remained elusive. So far they haven't managed to detect any magic attached to the figurine at all. Their plan is to leave after Remus is recovered from the next full moon, but it is looking more and more likely that they will have to stay on.

Remus continues to dream of the full moon each night and sometimes he even wonders if he can hear the voices whispering in his mind during the day, but he isn't inclined to raise it with Snape again. If the other man isn't experiencing the same then perhaps it's just a hangover from the innuo spell.

At eight o' clock on the morning of the full moon, Remus is sitting up in bed leafing through _Advanced Curses and How to Spot_ them and trying to ignore the throbbing behind his eyes. Snape, as usual, is unhurriedly arranging his potions equipment with punctilious care. It ought to be tedious but there is something about the man's face and bearing when he concentrates like this that is almost vulnerable in its utter artlessness. In these fleeting moments it is possible to see in him what Lily must have seen.

"Have you finished your tea?"

Remus looks up. It is unusual for Snape to speak at all while he is working.

"Nearly," he says. It is also unusual he notices, blearily delayed, stupid with his aches and pains, for Snape to have brought him a cup of tea in bed to begin with, never mind enquire after its consumption.

"You need to drink it all before I can administer the first dose of wolfsbane."

Remus drains the cup, masking a grin. Mystery solved.

"I thought I wouldn't take the potion until closer to sundown."

"The quantity of potion required for full effectiveness can be dangerous or indeed lethal if imbibed in one sitting," says Snape without taking his eyes from his work. He pours a large amount of thick brown liquid into the remaining hotel-provided teacup and hands it to him without ceremony.

"It will be very unpleasant," he says.

Remus takes the cup with a wince. Steam appears to be rising from its contents and, from the way it seems to ripple and writhe, he cannot be sure there isn't something alive in there. Best not to ask.

The taste is even worse than he feared and he has to clamp a hand over his nose and mouth to keep it down. Then, as it reaches his throat, the burning begins.

"You need to drink it all," says Snape dispassionately as Remus fights for air, eyes streaming and throat throbbing. Remus gives him a murderous look but he makes a point of not hesitating before he drinks the rest of the cup's contents.

"Merlin's beard," he gasps. "I have to do that again before sundown?"

"Immediately before the moon comes up," says Snape. "Though the side effects before then will not be insignificant. You may wish to forgo our work in the house today."

Remus shakes his head vigorously and wriggles out of bed.

"I'll be fine," he says, ignoring the spots that dance in front of his eyes from moving too quickly.

Snape looks sceptical but does not comment.

"We can't lose a day here when there still seems to be so much to do," he says.

"It is peculiar," Snape murmurs as Remus wriggles into his clothes in the bathroom.

"What is?" he asks, sticking his head out the slightly ajar door and feeling as he does so every bit the beleaguered muggle wife in one of those daytime television programmes.

"In a house that has not been inhabited by wizards for so long...usually the remaining curses and spells would lose their potency over time."

Remus bites his lip and thinks of Julie. It's becoming increasingly difficult to keep Snape away from the basement. Remus took a cursory look down there four days ago and confirmed his suspicions: broken furniture, the collection of blankets and the overwhelming odour of wolf. But even the presence of a werewolf is not magical enough to feed an entire household.

"Well ah...Prudence was here I suppose."

Snape dismisses that with a frown.

"A house-elf is hardly powerful enough to sustain an entire Manor House. It suggests to me that it is feeding off something else."

"A mephistoph would do that," says Remus coming back into the bedroom, "but we ruled that out."

"What did we rule out?"

"A mephistoph." Remus frowns at the man's blank look. "You know, offers your heart's desire, feeds off the greed, eventually consumes you. I looked it up when I first started having those dreams, but as you weren't affected I supposed..."

Snape for perhaps the first time ever looks genuinely contrite.

"Actually..."

Remus raises an eyebrow, his usual tendency towards tolerance hampered by the pounding behind his eyes and the hideous taste that still lingers in his mouth and, well, Snape.

"You mean to say when I expressly asked you..."

"I have never heard of a mephistoph - "

The man raises himself up defensively but Remus cuts him off.

"How long have you been having the dreams?"

"Long enough to suggest that it may be what you suspect."

Remus picks up his wand and thrusts it into his pocket grumpily, fixing Snape with a withering look.

"There are only a handful of places it could be," says Remus brusquely. "There are a couple of charms I can put together within the hour and while I'm doing that, you -" he plonks Advanced Curses and How to Spot Them in front of the other man, " - can do the reading."

\-----------

The mephistoph does indeed exist and turns out, somewhat distressingly, to be in the cistern of the downstairs men's bathroom. Over three cramped hours they succeed in drawing it out, Snape kneeling next to the toilet, arms resting on the seat and Remus sitting uncomfortably in the sink in order to make space; but destroying it remains infuriatingly beyond them.

In its natural state the mephistoph is a swirling glistening orb of deep emerald. The temptation to reach out and touch it is strong but, according to Advanced Curses, any physical contact with it is extremely dangerous. The scant information available to them suggests that disarming it is a matter of transfiguration, but it seems that every form they have the mephistoph take, its power remains unchanged. After one frazzled attempt by Remus, it melts into a swirling, oily liquid and begins to spill across the bathroom floor, forcing Snape to stand on the toilet seat to avoid stepping on it.

To add insult to injury, it seems that with that particular transformation the whispering voices that have been softly coaxing in the privacy of their minds for the past three hours have now been rendered audible.

_We can make it real, all of it_

_an end to the curse, and end to the struggling_

  
"Excellent Lupin. Now we will both drown in this odious slime to the sound of your maudlin fancies."

_  
The old man will regret his slight,_

_will beg your forgiveness before you accept the post_

_and Flitwick will never again dare to leave notes in the staffroom criticising your method of -_

A swift emission of sparks from Snape's wand only serves to make the liquid flow faster.

"What haven't we tried?" Remus asks desperately. His head is muddy and he feels as though he is sweating through his jacket. A part of him hopes this might be some kind of wolfsbane induced fever-dream.

"Nothing," Snape snaps. "There is nothing we have not tried. It does not seem possible to destroy it in any form."

Remus runs a hand through his hair.

"Easy to transfigure but not easy to destroy unless..." He looks up, desperate. "Unless we turn it into something that will destroy itself?"

Snape stops half way into a scoff and thinks for a moment.

"Do you think we can move it if we return it to its original state?"

"I hardly think it would hurt to try at this point," Remus replies, lifting his feet gingerly as the liquid rises. He points his wand and mutters the counter curse, an easy enough manoeuvre but it leaves him breathless and exhausted, which doesn't go unnoticed. As the green substance flows backwards into the orb, Snape steps off the toilet seat with imperious grace and pulls out his wand.

"Have a rest Lupin before you swoon like a little girl."

"I'm fine," he lies, churlishly.

"Indeed," says Snape. "Then help me get this to the breakfast room discreetly."  
  
Remus opens the bathroom door and sticks his head out tentatively. An elderly couple give him an odd look and he grins awkwardly at them, bundling Snape back into the bathroom behind him as he does so. When they are certain the coast is clear, they venture along the corridor. Some simple charms seem to do the trick and the mephistoph follows behind them like an obedient puppy. They don't meet anyone else on the short walk and Remus is just ushering Snape into the abandoned breakfast room when he hears somebody call his name.

He hurriedly clicks the door shut and wheels round.

"Quirinus," he tries for a smile. "I'm terribly sorry we didn't see you at the pub last night as we planned. Afraid were taken ill with...erm..."

The man blinks up at him. If he senses that Remus is trying to distract him or that he and Snape in fact spent the previous evening lying low in the neighbouring fish and chip shop until they were sure he was gone, he gives no sign.

"I dare say you do look a bit peaky."

"Yes. Sorry I..."

For a moment everything around him seems to swim and when the world rights itself again he finds himself propped up on the smaller man's shoulder. He pulls away with a start, apologising, mortified, but Quirrell is staring at him with kind of mild horror.

"Good grief man! Your nose!"

Remus puts a hand to his face and feels something warm and wet. _Merlin_ \- he hasn't had a nosebleed since the lead up to his potions OWL.

"I'm so sorry, your robes..."

"Think nothing of it," says Quirrell a faint expression of panic crossing his face as he ushers him to a chair and offers him a handkerchief before stepping back as far as he can. "Is Snape in the breakfast room? Shall I -"

"No!" Remus dabs at his nose to mask his panic. "No, just Sheena in there. Snape's gone for a walk...I'll be fine. Must have been something I ate. Or drank. Or a bug, one of those twenty four hour things..."

Fortunately, Quirrell appears to have reached the end of his interest in Remus' wellbeing. With a slight look of disgust he performs a quiet scourgify on his soiled robes and leaves him with a hasty pat on the shoulder.

Remus waits until the man has reached the top of the stairs before he dares enter the breakfast room by which point Snape has ushered the mephistoph into the fireplace and is watching it hovering there, bulging and glowing with green light, with a thoughtful expression.

"Is he gone? What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I cunningly fainted and then performed a nosebleed with aplomb. He couldn't get away fast enough."

The man turns to look at him, lips pursed.

"You will need a large meal before the second dose of wolfsbane."

Remus isn't sure if it is the thought of the potion or food that causes his stomach to turn.

"Goodie," he manages. "So I take it the plan now is to get the bugger to burn itself out."

Snape nods.

"I think it will need to be both of us. Are you fit?"

"Just about," says Remus, aware that Snape will only be angry if he lies. The man looks him over speculatively before he nods.

Performing spells in tandem can be difficult but they have established a rhythm of sorts between them. Remus is the stronger at transfiguration and so Snape lets him take the lead, searching for the feel of the mephistoph, the core of its being, and mapping out its new form in his mind. He feels Snape's magic gently searching for his and grabbing hold once he finds it. The support floods him in a glow of warmth and energy and the mephistoph bursts into fierce green flames.

The voices return as the mephistoph burns, whistling around the room in a last angry whirl, but they soon get fainter. Within a few minutes the scant kindling is used up and it disappears in a last burst of air.

"Did we...?"

Remus turns grinning to Snape whose expression is indulgently only partially frowning.

"I believe so."

He can't help resting a hand on the other man's shoulder, partly a gesture of warmth, partly a means of keeping himself upright for a few more moments.

"Thank the gods. All of them. I'm knackered."

\-----------

In spite of the rain, the impending full moon and the rapidly worsening effects of the wolfsbane, there is a faint element of celebration to proceedings at the little pub.

Snape orders a pile of 'mince and tatties' for each of them and is watching Remus pick at his with tenacity worthy of Madam Pomfrey, but he has also been persuaded to try one of the single malts which he generously describes as 'acceptable' before ordering another.

In the corner of the room two old women and a younger man are playing tunes on an old fiddle, a battered accordion and what appears to be two seashells, which the elder of the ladies bashes together with the concentration and ostentatiousness of a true virtuoso. Remus assumes they are muggles until an abandoned penny whistle leaps up to join in of its own accord.

"So the mephistoph was feeding the magic in the rest of the house," says Remus, reorganising the mashed potato on his plate to make it appear like he has eaten more than he actually has, "but do you think that was its only purpose?"

Snape gives Remus' plate a disapproving look before he answers.

"I do not."

"It strikes me that that sort of magic - drawing out the soul's most selfish desires, manipulating them and so on - would be ideal for luring the type of person who would...well..."

"Perfectly serve the dark lord. I agree."

Remus uses the distraction of Snape's thoughtfulness to put his fork down.

"But since the Lestranges left, most of the people in the house have been muggles. It is rare for the mephistoph to fully take hold of wizards, but do you think any of them..?"

"No," says Snape. "He barely tolerated half-bloods'" he adds with a rueful expression, his fingers unconsciously worrying the mark beneath his sleeve. The gesture is oddly endearing and Remus has to resist the urge to reach out and put his hand on his arm.

"Do you remember the taxi driver who took us here? He mentioned the new owner of the estate, the American with all the golf courses. Do you think...?"

Snape shakes his head.

"If the mephistoph got him then it is likely he will continue to acquire wealth and power until he is destroyed by it. He might end up as muggle emperor of the United States in a few decades but he won't be recruited by _him_."

"President," Remus corrects automatically. "But there's nothing we can do, to help him I mean?"

"The bargain has been struck," says Snape, sounding a little too satisfied. "Doubtless he will not even realise he is being consumed by it until it is far too late."

Remus shudders.

"And so we can assume that it is unlikely any wizard or witch has been led by the mephistoph to V- to the dark lord so far."

"Unless you suppose Quirrell would make a convincing death eater," Snape sneers.

Remus grins.

"Point taken. We can look through the guest book tomorrow and chase up any wizard names just in case," he says. "But it still doesn't explain..."

As he reaches into his robes for the little figurine, his smile fades.

"It's gone..."

"What's gone?"

"The ballerina...I checked for it when we were in the bathroom and it was there then..."

"Perhaps it fell out in the breakfast room or - "

Before either of them can stand up, the door to the bar flies open and a figure flies in in a splatter of wind and rain.

"Werewolf!"

The music stops abruptly and everyone on the bar turns to face the man in the doorway. It's like the sort of western films his mother used to watch when he was small, except that here it is no strutting cowboy at the door but Quirinus Quirrell, red and panicked with his colourful mismatched robes in disarray.

Remus freezes.

"Werewolf at Lestrange Manor!"

It's happening then. That absurd nightmare scenario that his friends used to tease him for imagining. Torches. Pitchforks.

Remus, hands shaking, makes to stand up before he loses his nerve, but Snape takes hold of him and yanks him down, leaving his hand tightly around his wrist.

"What's all this nonsense?" The barkeeper says, tugging at his moustache nervously.

"I came to warn you all before the moon rises! The creature is among us, masquerading as human."

The people in the bar all begin talking at once, a woman screams.

Remus takes a ragged breath. He needs to end this and it is at least more dignified to offer himself up than be called out by that odious little man.

"You aren't in any danger," he says, trying to keep the tremor from his voice as the man beside him kicks him under the table.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape snarls before he can stand.

Quirrell, noticing them for the first time, looks towards their table.

"My f-friends! I'm so glad I had time to warn you! I tried to capture the creature but she overwhelmed me..."

She...

"The basement - that's where her lair is. Don't go down there if you value your life!"

Everybody in the bar is moving now, drinks upturned in their haste to get home. Lock the doors. Bar the windows. Quirrell exits without a second glance leaving the two of them standing while the chaos swirls around them and within moments, all is quiet.

"This," says Snape, staring angrily around the deserted bar, "is precisely why Quirrell is wholly unsuitable for a Defence Against the Dark Arts position."

\-----------

The scent of werewolf in the basement is even stronger than before. Snape offers a little light from his wand and Remus goes down first, feeling for a light switch. The bulb snaps on, humming for a moment before slowly brightening to a dull orangey glow.

Snape, who has been broodily silent all the way back to the manor takes in the broken furniture and the assortment of restraints with a frown.

"You knew," he says at last. "And so you deliberately kept me away from this place."

"She's just a child. And a muggle. She wouldn't stand a chance in the centres. I was trying to protect her."

"Spare me your feeble sentiments. Who is it? The girl? Ginny?"

"Julie," Remus corrects him, biting back a stab of annoyance. It is harder to keep his cool before the moon comes up at the best of times and today has been nothing if not trying.

"Where is she?"

"Does it matter? She'll be back by dark."

"Will she?"

Remus pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to think about the pounding in his skull or the ache in his bones or the sneering cynicism of the man beside him.

"What matters now," he says, ignoring the question, "is that we find out what brought Quirrell down here in the first place."

He uses his wand to provide a little more light, but even his lumos is feeble. Snape, though still clearly sulking, appears to have more luck. With a little hum, he stoops to pick something up and places it in Remus' hand; the ballerina figurine.

"Could you have dropped this here today?"

"No," says Remus, shocked. "I haven't been down here since Tuesday."

"Then somebody took it. Quirrell perhaps? You said you fainted..."

"But how would he even know to...oh."

They come to the conclusion in unison and Snape's eyes narrow.

"Quirrell desires above all other things to make his name in the research of dark magic. The mephistoph found a victim after all," he says, a little too smugly for a man whose own petty professional grievances have so recently been aired in a public lavatory.

Unwilling to answer him, Remus looks away and his eye fixes on a dark shape in the corner.

"Well," he says flatly, motioning towards it. "That explains how Quirrell found out Julie was a werewolf."

Snape, sensing his reluctance, goes to the corner and picks up the moon box.

They both stare at it for a moment. The intricate runes carved into the sides are not known to Remus but they send a sliver of dread through him all the same.

"If you stand in front of me, will it be safe to open?"

Remus nods and moves to lurk nervously behind the box, hating the way his palms are sweating.

Snape is careful to open the box very slightly so that only a ribbon of moonlight illuminates his own eyes and nose, but Remus still feels his skin prickling with the shock of it. It's so close to the moon that he feels a perverse urge to move towards it and release the creature that is waiting near to the surface of his skin.

"Curious," says Snape, dragging the part of Remus that is Remus back to the fore. "Lupin, if I might have the figurine."

Remus obliges and then, for want of something better to do, draws his wand.

Snape opens the box wider so that his whole face is bathed in silver light and appears to slot the figurine inside the box. Immediately a soft melody curls out of it, the sort of music that lives on the edge of a childish memory, almost recognisable.

"A music box. Likely a muggle one before it was tampered with," says Snape softly. But Remus is looking beyond him, to where the light is hitting the wall.

"Severus," he croaks. The man is careful only to turn his head but he sees it too; a lavishly bejewelled doorknob jutting out of the wall where the moonlight hits it.

Wordlessly, Remus takes the box as the other man pads tentatively forward and turns the knob. The door opens without a creak into a dark corridor.

When Remus closes the box, the doorknob disappears but the door remains open. Snape makes to go through.

"It's getting late," says Remus. "If we should get stuck down there as the moon rises..."

"I have the second dose of wolfsbane in my jacket."

"You are that sure it will work?"

"Of course," says Snape, sniffily. "And we have time."

Remus hesitates for a moment and then follows the man through the door. The corridor is so narrow that they are forced to walk single file, but it is only a few moments before it opens out into a tiny cell with a faint green light pulsing in the centre of the floor.

As they move closer they can see that it is a large bottle set on it's side, and that the light is radiating from a small, beautifully formed ship within, hovering in a sea of coiling green smoke.

"Can you feel it?" Remus whispers, shivering. "I think it needs..."

"A demonstration of loyalty." Snape's tone is arch, but his eyes are afraid. "Very well."

Remus feels almost as if he should avert his eyes as the man teases the smoke from his wand with a gruff _morsmordre_ , and it is rather a discreet dark mark that Snape summons to hover above the ship; a far cry from the aggressively ecstatic conjurings he remembers from the war. Still, the spell is enough to make Remus' stomach twist uncomfortably and also, it seems, to persuade the ship in the bottle to offer up its secrets.

When he looks closely, he can see the ship's wheel turning and the little sails moving and filling with green smoke. And as the ship turns, so does the bottle.

"To what end?" Snape mutters. Remus too is puzzling at it, staring as ship in the bottle spins slowly around, and then a thought strikes him. Steeling himself, he opens the moon box away from himself and directs its glow to the floor.

"A compass," Snape says as the moonlight reveals the hidden marks etched into the ground.

The points of it around the bottle, each letter a curling serpent, shine silvery green in the light and after what feels like an age, the ship stops to rest by one of them.

"Elegant," mutters Snape. They both stare at the bottle expectantly, waiting for whatever is coming next, but the ship stays put. The two men look at each other.

"South-East," says Snape.

"Not particularly enlightening," Remus replies, frowning. He waits a few extra moments and when nothing new is forthcoming, closes the box with a snap. This time the prickling feeling from the moonlight doesn't leave him completely.

With a curt wave of his wand, Remus dissipates the dark mark above the bottle.

"I think it's time we were getting back."

Snape turns and nods, but he's taking his jacket off and rolling up his sleeves. Remus, slow witted with pain and tiredness does not realise what he intends to do until it is far too late.

"Wait Severus! Surely there will be magic that guards against -"

The spell from Snape's wand makes impact with the bottle and a crack appears, running and branching into more cracks until the whole bottle is riddled with them. Then, with a little tinkling sound, it breaks apart. The ship bobs and judders on its green mist sea and eventually is submerged. When the the smoke vanishes, there is no sign of it.

A growl of annoyance escapes Remus' throat that is more wolf than human, making the other man turn in alarm. It's startles Remus too, but then with being in the basement and the disorienting power of the moon box, it is no wonder he has had no true sense of how late it has become.

"We have to go now," says Remus, urgently. "Before Julie gets back down to the basement."

He can feel the wolf now, twisting and clawing at his innards.

"Give me the potion."

Snape nods, his face pale, and reaches into what should be his pocket. Realising with a mumbled curse that his jacket is now on the ground, he makes to retrieve it. Then, with a hideous scream, a green mist bursts from beneath the broken bottle shards.

Both men step back. Remus makes a desperate lunge towards the discarded jacket, but the whirling magic repels him with a force that knocks him backwards. The whole chamber is filled with wailing and for some reason Remus' mind is suddenly filled to the brim with the ruins of a house at Godric's Hollow and a man's voice, cold and accusing: _friend of yours wasn't he?_

For a moment the awfulness of it is too much to bear. He stays on the ground, held there by the weight of it, and then someone is pulling him to his feet. By the look on his face, he's gone somewhere similar, but Remus cannot begin to fathom where Severus Snape's darkest memories might reside.

"Dementors?" he croaks. The change is imminent now and he isn't able to stand without leaning on Snape. They are so close that he can see the pulse throbbing in the man's neck. The man's scent alone threatens to send him into a mindless frenzy.

"I think not," says Snape. "But cut from the same cloth perhaps. How long do we have before you transform?"

Remus tries to breathe, clinging onto the bits of himself that are slipping away.

"Ten minutes," he gasps, "maybe less."

Snape's mouth is fixed in a grim line. His composure is impressive but Remus can smell his fear. Unable to move forward or back, the howling magic around them is a cage and Remus is almost delirious with the thought of what will happen if they do not break out of it.

He doesn't even notice Snape casting the patronus until the billowing green fog subsides slightly. It is formless and not nearly strong enough to free them, but it gives him the strength to draw his own wand.

Academically speaking, the conjuring of a fully corporeal patronus on the brink of a lycanthropic transformation, half poisoned by wolfsbane and drowning in a sea of one's worst experiences ought not to be possible, but it is extraordinary what fear can force you to achieve. Drawing on every last ounce of his strength, Remus retreats to the quiet place within himself where a stag, a dog and a rat reside, untied to pasts or futures, and the patronus bursts from his wand.

With both patronuses together, the howling lessens and the mist moves back further but it isn't enough. Remus can feel the last of his strength draining out of him.

"You have to...surely you can cast a corporeal..."

But turning to face Snape, it is clear that the man is more affected by the swirling dark magic than he realised. His face is sunken and gaunt and there is something haunted and almost wild in his eyes.

"I will not."

"You _will_ not?!"

Remus redoubles his efforts but it is no use.

"Severus!" he shouts. "In less than five minutes you are going to be trapped in here with the wolf! For Merlin's sake if you are able to..." but the man seems to look beyond him. Whatever memory he is lost in, he is too far away to reach. Remus has no choice, he lets the wolf into his being and straightens himself up to loom over him.

"Severus," he roars. The man's eyes flicker and he draws away in fear, but it seems to do the trick. Snape nods and mutters the words to recast his patronus.

The creature that bursts out of his wand blazes brighter than ever and bounds forward without even the help of Remus' wolf. Snape charges through the gap in the mist, half dragging Remus behind him. They hurry through he little corridor led by the light and crash through the open door at the end.

Hazily, he sees Julie scream as they appear back in the basement, but his mind is too far gone to dwell on it. He sinks to he ground.

"Get out!" He shouts to Snape. And then, just as the man is about to turn, he sees Snape's patronus in full for the first time. A doe.

He wonders if it is the work of his feverish state but then he catches Snape's eye and sees something that his nearly animal mind feels rather than understands.

"Lily," he whispers with the remnants of his voice.

The human in front of him flinches and steps back. The wolf senses something from him; anger, hostility perhaps, and growls, tries to snap at him with jaws that are not yet formed. The human turns, runs, and he has the urge to pursue him, but then his back arches and snaps and his mind goes blank.

\-----------

Edinburgh, November 1985

He had forgotten how exhausting it is to be be poor. The tedious grinding worry of it, the loneliness. It's taken him roughly two months to end up destitute again, and just in time for winter. He is almost regretting his refusal to accept a larger sum from Dumbledore, but after he refused to allow him to see Harry, the man had peered at him with such regretful kindness that he couldn't bear it. Not with Snape sitting there too, brittly erect and refusing to make eye contact as he had since the full moon.

Once they were both outside, he attempted to pay Snape for the wasted wolfsbane potion too, but he had simply sneered and walked away, leaving Remus feeling more ludicrously bereft than he had thought possible.

With nothing keeping him in England he thought to try up north and, though he enjoys the genteel eccentricities of New Town and the gaudy tourism of the Mile, he hasn't had much more luck holding down a decently paid job.

If he is honest, it isn't the sleeping rough that is the most exhausting part, but maintaining the illusion of respectability whilst doing so. The lies needed to cover up the fact that everything he owns fits in his battered satchel, keeping his few items of clothing neat and clean, making excuses to avoid socialising in case he needs to buy a round.

He works a bar shift a few nights a week, and it's a sketchy enough establishment that nobody blinks when he takes a sick day, but proper jobs need addresses and references and a decent shirt and tie for the interview.

It was simple bad luck that lost him his flat this time. The whole block was evicted due to an asbestos problem and getting the rent on it back through administration will take weeks. Every other place he has tried needs a deposit up front. Still, by his next pay cheque he might just about have enough and that is only two days away. Until then, he's making do with the bench on the far side of the Meadows

The last time he slept rough was just before the end of the war, and over those terrible three or so weeks, he perfected just the right combination of spells to keep him relatively warm and dry. They also lent him a modicum of privacy, which for Remus was most important of all.

He is fairly confident that he still knows how to execute the spells, which is why it is such a shock to wake up to the frosty winter morning dullness and realise that there is a woman perched on the end of the bench.

Remus sits upright with a start.

"Sorry - excuse me..." he says, somewhat stupidly.

The woman, dressed in a neatly fitting skirt suit and matching hat clutches her handbag and turns to him with a faint air of disgust. She is a werewolf, he realises belatedly, though her scent is heavily masked by a perfume that makes his eyes water.

"Remus John?"

"Ah...yes?"

"I'm bringing you a message, from Prudence."

"The house-elf?"

The woman huffs disparagingly.

"From Prudence Fitch."

Remus blinks.

"Prue. Is she alright?"

"My sister is doing well. She sends her good wishes and apologises that she cannot be here in person."

He does remember Prue mentioning her sister at Gordon's party, but that doesn't explain much. He rubs his eyes, trying to awaken at least a semblance of intelligence.

"Sorry, for...ah what exactly?"

"She is currently petitioning the ministry about the Wythenshawe centre and cannot be seen to be personally involved."

"Oh."

"I believe she also wished us to meet in the hope that we might become friends or _worse_. I wish to make it clear that will not be happening."

"Erm, alright."

The woman condescends to look at him. She's wearing so much makeup that her expression looks as if it is fixed permanently in a cold, prim glare.

"Prue's given you a cottage in Surrey. Or rather, she's given me a cottage and instructed me to give it to you.

"But I don't -"

"She said you would protest, which is why the paperwork is complete. It's yours. Do what you like with it. Her husband was going to knock it down for scrap."

The woman drops a bundle of papers and parchment into his lap and gets up. Remus can only stare at her in shock. He knows he ought to resist, but the idea right now of somewhere warm to go...

"In my opinion, being a werewolf is no excuse for slovenliness, but my sister seems to think you are worth coddling."

"That's a bit -"

"She also wishes you to know that Julie is doing well. Gordon Bones had her registered at a day centre so she wasn't required to leave home."

Remus can't help smiling at that.

"Tell her...tell her thank you. For everything."

The woman doesn't bother to reply and simply rolls her eyes and apparates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. RAT

Sirius has never flown this fast before.

Below him the lights of Merlin-knows-where twinkle in cheerful mimicry of the stars; but apart from the rush of the wind in his ears and the hammering of his heart, all Sirius is aware of is that his brother is by his side, and that their enemies are gaining on them.

He knows that Minerva, thanks to some of his riskier modifications, has a little more speed in her yet, but James on his broom is already struggling to keep up.

There is no need for words between them, even if it were possible to hear one another. One glance and the plan is agreed: James, the slower of the two, will plunge streetwards and lose them in the confusion while Sirius leads the rest up into the clouds. If they are fortunate enough to survive, they'll meet back at headquarters as soon as it is safe.

A curse whistles past his face, green, deadly, and Sirius is about to give the nod to go when he feels James fall back.

"Prongs!" he yells uselessly. Bending with difficulty to look behind him he sees James is unhurt, but the back of his broom in flames.

Another curse grazes the side of his face. There isn't time to panic. Sirius swerves the bike so that it rounds back beneath James and the juddering, failing broomstick, and his brother manoeuvres himself off, dropping into the sidecar moments before the abandoned broom begins to fall.

"Fuck!" Sirius hears him shout. "Fucking fuck!"

"Hold on!" he yells, wand between his teeth as he fiddles with the dials.

James ducks out of the sidecar and sends spells back at their pursuers, dodging and bending as their curses fly past his face. They are close now, scarcely a few feet behind and Sirius can hear them shouting, goading them, though he cannot make out their words.

Grabbing his wand he points it at the speedometer and the bike explodes into action with such sudden swiftness that it knocks the breath of of him.

He makes a grab for James, unsure how secure he is in the sidecar at such speed, and his brother grips back, strong and vital.

Within moments the death-eaters are far behind them, their curses useless as Sirius and James disappear into the night.

\-----------

James is rather subdued when they report back to headquarters. Sirius relays the details of their mission to a pale and exhausted looking Frank, on his third shift in a row and smelling strongly of coffee. He's covering for Dorcas, who is still recovering from a run in with one of the Malfoys.

"We intercepted them before they could do any harm to their target, but there were more of them than we anticipated," he says. "It's as if they were expecting us. Again."

"How many in total?"

"Five-ish. They all took off after us and we left Edgar to keep an eye on the muggles. Is he..?"

"He's fine," Frank gives him a tired smile. "Got back about twenty minutes ago."

Sirius sighs with relief.

"You'll need to report to medical for that," Frank adds, motioning to the burn on his cheek left by the glancing curse. You too Potter. Moody's on duty."

"Aww not Moody!"

Even Frank, who is a little too kind and straightforward to join in with most of their banter, gives them a guiltily amused look.

"Well he's no Madame Pomfrey - but you know what he's like about procedure."

When James doesn't speak, Sirius slings an arm around him and gives the other man a meaningful look.

"Listen Frank, it's been a long night and the last thing either of us needs is a half hour lecture on how rubbish we both are. Couldn't we just...skedaddle? Remus will have stuff in the cupboard for my face so you needn't be concerned for my looks..."

Frank sighs.

"He'll only double the lecture tomorrow when he finds out you skived debrief, but I can't say I blame you. Go on and get a pair of firewhiskys down your necks. Potter looks like he could use a large one."

"Cheers mate."

James still says nothing, and through a cracked lens of his glasses he appears to be blinking rather a lot. Usually the adrenaline of a mission brings out in James the ridiculous verbosity of his early teens. Feeling a little at a loss in its absence, Sirius ushers him through the floo to the cottage.

The living room is dark and Sirius realises, with a small, pathetic pang, that Remus has not been home. He lights the lamps, one at a time like a ritual, tries not to think about it. There isn't any firewhisky left, or clean glasses, but there is a bottle of Remus' muggle stuff which he pours liberally into two chipped mugs. James drains his in one, screwing up his face as he swallows and Sirius can hear Remus in his mind, _single malts are meant to be savoured_ , and pours him a second.

"Good thing I got that sidecar in the end," he grins lamely. "Maybe Lily will let Harry go in it after all."

James stares into his glass and makes no response.

Sirius frowns, tries again.

"I'm sorry about your broom..."

"I don't care about my sodding broom."

"Well that's not exactly true is it Prongsie," Sirius laughs nervously. "Considering you slept next to it in bed for most of sixth form."

James starts the blinking thing again and Sirius is afraid he is going to cry, but when he looks up at Sirius his expression is angry, accusing.

"You actually enjoy this don't you."

"Enjoy what?"

"Doesn't matter."

With a sigh, James helps himself to another whisky and turns himself to face the window, but there is no mistaking the gesture or the tension in his angular shoulders.

"If you've got something to say then say it," says Sirius coldly, trying to mask the quiet panic that this sort of thing always stirs within him.

_Pathetic, needy, a disgrace to the name of..._

James turns and narrows his eyes.

"This is a war. People we know, people we love are being killed - "

"You think I don't - "

" - and you act like the whole thing is some elaborate fucking jolly-broomsticks prank!"

Sirius blinks. This ought to be the point where he takes a swing at James and they fight it out until they've forgotten what it was they were arguing about in the first place, but he feels too empty, too heartsick. He has seen his friends bleed enough this year, or perhaps it is because there is more than a kernel of truth in James' words. People are dying. Marlene McKinnon was murdered less than two weeks ago along with her entire family; they drank a toast to her at headquarters because it wasn't safe to go to the funeral and everyone said what a tough old stick she was and how she would have laughed at their tears and nobody dared say a word about how wrong it was that a girl's life had been snuffed out faster than a cigarette because they were afraid of what might happen if they began.

They say Reg is dead too, but Sirius can't even be sure of that, and all the while Remus does whatever it is Dumbledore has him doing and comes back after weeks away so tightly coiled that his silent anger seems to fill the entire cottage. The only time Sirius can stop his mind eddying around and around the sheer awfulness of it all is when he's on a mission.

Unable to find the right words for all of that, he opts for: "Piss off."

James stands.

"You have no idea what it feels like to have a family who needs you."

Sirius flinches, words momentarily knocked out of him, but James doesn't even notice.

"I was never afraid like is before, but now I have a wife to protect, and this tiny, vulnerable, sentient blob that we made and - "

"You know I'd give my life to protect Harry."

The anger seems to drain slightly from James.

"I don't doubt it."

"And Lily too, though she'd heap scorn on both of us for daring to assume she needed our protection."

The ghost of a smile begins to soften the extremes of James' mouth. Sirius, heartened, goes on:

"And so would Remus."

James' expression hardens again ever so slightly. "Would he?"

Sirius feels a coldness inside him, a fear that he disguises as anger.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Where is he Pads?"

"You know where he is "

"I know you care about him but - "

"I was under the impression that you cared about him too."

James stands, proud, stag-like, ridiculous.

"I have a family to protect."

"So you've said," Sirius mutters tersely.

He can tell James would like to leave now in a swish of dignified righteousness, only he can't leave because it isn't safe to go straight from headquarters to his house because his family are being targeted, because somebody in the order is passing information to the death-eaters. James is out of line, but he is also frightened.

And there are the rumours. Rumours that say Remus has been hanging around missions he's not been signed on for. They've all heard them.

Sirius rolls a pair of cigarettes and offers one to James who takes it, but not before he fixes him with a serious look.

"Ask him what's going on, tell him we're worried about him."

Sirius nods and wishes for another mission.

\-----------

"I expect you've heard of the infamous Sirius Black."

Padfoot, dozing in shadows of a grey evening, doesn't entirely understand the words, but the sound of his cell door creaking open propels him into panicked alertness. He has barely transformed by the time the three men enter and the bright light from their wands makes him shrink back, eyes smarting.

Hodge the head jailer he recognises from exercise days; the man has a irritating fondness for using the Aqua Eructo charm on stragglers, though the generally held belief amongst the inmates is that it is the only spell he can perform. The governor is a much rarer sight - usually only on site for successful suicides or escape attempts - and the third man he doesn't recognise at all.

"If I'd known we were expecting guests, I would have wheeled out the good tea cups," he says, enjoying the fear on the men's faces when he smiles graciously.

"On your feet, Black. You're in the presence of the Minister of Magic," Hodge rumbles, with a predictable squirt of water from his wand. Sirius wipes his face and staggers to his feet. Most movement makes him dizzy now, with all the food he's putting aside, but it's working. Within days Padfoot ought to be thin enough to slip through the bars at the end of the corridor and then, and then...

"What happened to old Millie Bagnold then? Pop her clogs?"

"Cornelius Fudge has been Minister since her retirement," says the governor, his face blank as usual. Sirius has always wondered how the human staff manage to survive working in this place. Most of them have a certain dependency on alcohol or chocolate or, in Hodge's case, both; but the governor never seems to be affected by the dementors. It's Sirius' private suspicion that the man has no soul to torment.

"Dumbledore turn it down then?" he grins.

Fudge's face twists with annoyance and he realises the chance shot has met its mark. He's not sure why he's baiting the man. Boredom perhaps.

"Thirteen innocent muggles murdered by a single spell," says Fudge. "Do you have anything to say about that?"

Sirius shrugs.

"Didn't do it."

Fudge's only response is a low, scornful laugh.

"I'd refer you to the notes from my trial, only it doesn't seem to have taken place yet," says Sirius with exaggerated politeness.

"The evidence was so overwhelming it was deemed unnecessary," says Fudge. "You have Millicent Bagnold to thank for that actually."

Sirius has long lost interest in the details of his incarceration. His only reason for bringing it up was to prolong their visit, but the Minister and his entourage appear to be leaving anyway and the prospect of being left alone in the darkness again is suddenly unthinkable.

"Minister!" he yells before he knows what he's doing.

Fudge turns with studied patience.

"Yes?"

"Are you...finished with that newspaper? Only I'm partial to the crossword."

The Minister looks taken aback, but a nod from the governor reassures him and he inches forward gingerly to extend the newspaper towards him.

Sirius takes it and sketches a gracious bow.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please do call again."

He knows he ought to wait until it is light, but such a treasure is not something he has the restraint to save up. He needs to stand on his toes by the window to get the best of the dwindling evening light. He saves the crossword for later but begins there at the back, savouring every quidditch result, every advertisement for miracle hair-grow potion and self-serving tea sets. Most of the names in the news mean nothing to him, but he realises with a jolt that a scowling young woman who has obviously been forced into posing in her graduation robes for the announcement pages is his cousin Andromeda's girl.

 _The Tonks Family,_ it reads, _is delighted to share the success of their daughter Nymphadora, who graduated top of her class in auror training this summer and looks forward to a long and distinguished career._

On the next page there are some more familiar faces. The headline: _Ministry of Magic Employee Scoops Grand Prize_ is accompanied by a lively picture of Molly Prewett - wait no - Weasley and her alarmingly large family.

Sirius can still remember holding the youngest Weasley as a baby - though when he thinks about it, there were no girl Weasleys when he last saw them. Perhaps they've had another. James had made a joke that they would keep trying for a girl until they got one and the baby...Reginald was it?...had been sick on his shoes. That must be him there, the lanky one with the pet rat on his shoulder.

Pet rat.

Pet.

Rat.

For a long moment, Sirius forgets to breathe.

Even as the sun sinks below the wide black waters that surround the prison, Sirius can make out the familiar markings. Unmistakable. Fifty full moons and a thousand other occasions he's seen them and for twelve years he has thought of little else, dreamed of little else than the rat and what he did to them all.

_The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend._

Merlin knows how the rat has done it, or how long he's been using that family as a hiding place. But if he's a pet of one of the children then no doubt he'll be going with them to Hogwarts, to Harry.

With a yelp he realises that he has set the pages of the newspaper alight where he was holding it and he beats the flames down hastily. The rush of using magic other than Padfoot, even inadvertently, is a strange and dizzying sensation. He is rather surprised he could do it at all. He stares at the newspaper and after a moments reflection, carefully tears the article out and folds it inside his robes.

He had planned to make his escape attempt by gradually testing the boundaries over a matter of weeks, by getting to know the routines beyond his corridor and making use of them. He knows now that there is no time for that. Harry will soon be back at Hogwarts and so will the traitor, the murderer Peter Pettigrew. In a few days, Padfoot will be ready to slip through he bars and he must act then, to avenge the Potters and protect their son.

The cell is completely dark now. Knowing that his human mind will never allow him to sleep, he becomes Padfoot, whose grasp of the situation is a little more patchy. Padfoot knows that even though he is hungry, he mustn't eat the food beneath the pallet, and that in a few more days he will leave this place forever. Now though, he needs to rest. Now, he waits.

\-----------

Peter Pettigrew smacks his lips and grins.

"This is delicious."

"The creamy potato stuff?" says Sirius, sniffing at his own plate dubiously. "Didn't you bring that yourself?"

The smaller man shrugs and shovels another helping into his mouth.

"Dauphinois potatoes," James corrects him, spraying a mouthful on to the table as he does so. "You have to admit, Wormy's a bloody brilliant cook. If the man chooses to indelicately praise his own contribution, who are we to judge."

"The two bags of chips were also very much appreciated Sirius," says Lily indulgently before turning to frown at her husband. "And for god's sake close your mouth Potter. You're teaching our son to be a pig."

Harry Potter takes a handful of mashed banana from his dribbling mouth and flings it violently on to the table of his high chair.

"See!"

"Rubbish," says James. "If he'd learned that from me his throw would never be that pathetic."

"What's for pudding?" asks Peter.

Lily looks pensive.

"Remus is bringing it. That's if he's still coming."

"He'll be here," says Sirius, determinedly.

It's been three days since Remus went out. He doesn't bother to say when he'll be back any more, and when Sirius asks he just looks tired and says he doesn't know; but he promised he would make it to dinner and Sirius rather needs that to be the truth today.

"Have you heard from him then?" Peter asks, helping himself to more chips. "Because Alice said - "

"Never mind what Alice said," Lily cuts in, frowning.

Sirius crosses his arms.

"What did she say?"

Lily sighs and purses her lips while Peter eyes them guiltily.

"She said she saw Moony hanging around outside the Macnairs' before the raid on Thursday," says James grimly.

"Wasn't he -"

"He wasn't on duty. And what's more, I saw him myself when I was out on a job yesterday."

"That doesn't mean he's passing secrets to the death eaters!" Lily hisses, her cheeks pink.

"Well somebody is," says James.

"He's not been...well...himself lately," adds Peter tentatively. "Though of course that doesn't mean..."

"Can't you see this is exactly what they want us to be doing?" says Lily. "All of this fear and suspicion - that is how they will beat us."

"All I'm saying is we need to rule him out as a - "

"Use your heads," cries Lily, standing and beginning to gather up plates somewhat violently. Peter stares bereft as his final mouthful of dinner is grabbed from under his nose. "Remus has spent his whole life concealing his condition from people. If he had something to hide then he would bloody well be hiding it, but instead he's acting odd, out sorts. Has it even once occurred to you, husband mine, that maybe he - "

The bells connected to the wards begin to tinkle in the kitchen and Sirius, who has not been able to summon a single word to say through the entire conversation, stands.

"I'll go," he mutters and hurries through.

Remus sends his patronus first, an agreed security measure, and the rush of relief that the sight of it brings him is overwhelming. Sirius adjusts the wards and soon the living breathing form of Remus Lupin appears in the kitchen, as unsuitably dressed for the cold as always and clutching a small box of apples.

His face is pale and there are some new grazes on his cheeks, but he has obviously been home first to wash and change and there is a pleasant Remusy aroma of soap and fresh linen about him.

They stare at each other for a moment, uncertainly.

"Hello," says Remus, shyly. There is a softness in his eyes that warms Sirius to his toes and he can't help gathering him violently into a hug.

Remus laughs softly. "Mind the apples," he says.

"Sod the apples. You're here." And not a traitor, he thinks. _Not_ a traitor.

He ushers him through with an arm around his shoulder.

"Moony's here!"

Now they are all together again, it will be clear to everyone that their fears were nothing.

Lily gets up and plants a kiss on his cheek.

"You brought pudding!"

"We've been stealing them from next door's garden," Remus says with a grin. "I thought we might stew them with some cinnamon." He looks over to the table where James and Peter have not moved from their chairs and waves tentatively.

"Nice of you to join us," says James with a cold expression. Peter says nothing.

Remus' smile falters a little.

"I'm sorry to be late, I came as fast as I could."

"Where were you?"

Sirius can almost see Remus' barriers go up, like a fortress under siege.

"I can't tell you that, you know I can't," he says evenly.

"James," says Lily sternly. "You're being ridiculous."

"It's a simple question."

"I would if I could, but it isn't just me I would be putting in danger," says Remus tightly, and Sirius knows he's thinking again of the girl, Laura, who died in their house.

"Surely you can tell us, Moony," says Peter. "You can trust us."

Remus' eyes flash dangerously.

"I don't think it's my trust that is in question here, is it?"

James sighs.

"No need to be like that," he says as Lily gives him an incredulous look, folding her arms. "We just don't understand why you've been so secretive, why people keep seeing you near jobs you're not signed on for."

Remus' expression flickers momentarily, perhaps surprised that he's been observed.

"I didn't...it's not what you might..." He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm sorry but I can't put the others at risk."

"Other werewolves?"

"Other _human beings_. Or are they different things to you?"

James brings his fist down on the table with a crash.

"That's not what I'm saying - "

At the noise Harry, whose bottom lip has been trembling for some moments, bursts into loud wails.

"I'll leave," says Remus. "I shouldn't have come."

"Merlin's sodding left tit on a bike," says Lily, scooping up the crying baby and bouncing him gently up and down. "Just you hold your horses Lupin." She places Harry firmly into Remus' arms. "He always settles for you."

Remus looks like he wants to refuse, but there's very little he can do about it. As he rocks him, Harry's cries soften to whimpers and then cease altogether.

Sirius has always been a little jealous of Remus' quiet rapport with James' son, but Remus appears so exhausted and so vulnerable when he looks down at Harry, unable to wipe his eyes, already red rimmed and glistening with tears, that Sirius can hardly bear it.

James notices too, and his own eyes are moist when he gets up.

"I'm sorry mate, I was out of line," he says curtly, though the tension doesn't leave his shoulders.

Remus gives him a small tired smile and Sirius narrows his eyes at Lily.

"You're a manipulative bastard, Evans."

Lily raises an eyebrow but there is too much relief on her face.

"We have to remember what matters," she says. "Or we're lost."

\-----------

Sirius wakes and sees the moon in the sky through the bars on his window.

It is almost time.

He rifles under his pallet for the food he has hidden away; a large, flat portion of porridge, filled with lumps of cheese, two pieces of smoked fish and three strips of dried beef.

He eats it slowly, aware of the damage a large meal could do after weeks of near starvation, and tries to gather his thoughts. He knows the dementors will be back soon. Sirius always wakes when they leave him, but this darkest hour of the night will only offer a moment of respite.

When they return he must ensure that he is not delayed by them for long.

He saves a last piece of beef and places it deep within his prison robe, next to the newspaper cutting. There's no guarantee that either will survive the swim, but then there is no guarantee that he will survive it either. After days of obsessively observing the boats coming in and out from the mainland, he knows it could take until daybreak. He might do it faster as a human but the cold would finish him off in minutes.

Sirius isn't afraid. He is vaguely aware of the expectant prickle across his skin, the slight hike in his pulse, but it's a distant sensation. Maybe he has lived in the past for so long that reality has become more like a dream.

Then he feels the air change around him and the familiar queasy dread of the dementors returning.

The others along the corridor feel it too and he hears them begin to stir and cry out. There is no fighting them, that he has learned the hard way, but - he thinks it to himself as determinedly as he can - there are aspects he can influence. Some memories stretch out and expand into an eternity of infinitesimal details, but others seem to gallop headlong, an unstoppable blur until they -

\----------

When the Potters go into hiding, Remus doesn't say a word, but he starts to spend even more time away from the cottage. The only time either of them acknowledge that it has happened is about a month later, when he asks over a rare breakfast together if Sirius will pass on his birthday present for Harry.

Sirius looks down at his toast and mutters something ambiguous about making sure he gets it and Remus fixes him with a brief, clear-eyed look of such resigned understanding that Sirius carries it with him like a leaden weight in his belly for the rest of the week.

If anything, they fuck more than they did when they trusted one another. It becomes an unspoken understanding that they leave behind whatever it is that has grown up between them for those snatched, desperate moments.

Once afterwards, Remus rolls over so that his lean, scarred back creates a barrier between them.

"Are you going to end it?"

Sirius stares up at the ceiling.

"I can't," he says.

In October, he goes with Peter to the warehouse in Streatham.

"We'll sort this once and for all," says the rat, who has grown a little more gaunt this past few months. "Remus is the only one in the Order who thinks the raid is still on. If the death-eaters show up to protect it then we know he's guilty."

And no matter how many times Sirius screams from his cell, he does as the rat tells him, and keeps watch with him from the stairwell.

Sirius says nothing as he sees Remus apparate into the alley across from him, or as he watches a young, shabbily dressed man emerge from the warehouse and meet him there in the shadows.

He doesn't hear what they say, but the young man leaves looking angry and disappears hastily back inside. A few moments after Remus leaves, the death-eaters arrive, five on broomsticks, at least another four in apparition.

Sirius doesn't make a fuss, but he shrugs off the hand that the rat attempts to put on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," says the rat, looking up at him with red rimmed, watery eyes. "I truly am."

He gets home at five in the morning sober, wide awake. And, in spite of it all, he knows a moment of terrible regret as as he crawls into bed and feels Remus flinch at the unfamiliar scent clinging to his body.

"What was his name?" he asks quietly. "Did you find out?"

Sirius doesn't answer.

"I'll go in the morning," says Remus.

He allows Sirius to wrap his arms around him until it's light, but in the morning, he does leave. Gathering up the possessions Remus considers to be his takes less than half an hour and Sirius stands at the doorway, mute and numb.

Please don't go.

"Take care, Sirius."

The last time he sees Remus Lupin he has flecks of grey drizzle caught in his scarf, an insufficient coat and he cannot ask him to stay.

\----------

Sirius opens his eyes.

Blinking, he can see the shadowy forms of the dementors retreating through the doorway. It is still dark, so he can't have lost more than an hour, but he has little time to act.

After transforming, he digs as quietly as he can at the space beneath the cell door - the last thing he needs is McTavish yelling the place down - and begins trying to squeeze himself through.

Yet somehow, this time, there doesn't seem to be a large enough gap. He uses every muscle in his body to will himself through, but he simply won't fit.

It could be that the rain has caused the door to expand, but if that's true it could be weeks before he has another opportunity.

Weeks that he does not have.

He pushes so hard that his body screams with pain but then, to his horror, he feels the door begin to push back against his nose. He scrabbles backwards, barely suppressing a yelp of arm and the door creaks open once more.

Dinner. How on earth could he have forgotten?

He waits, trembling in the shadows as the wooden bowl is placed on the floor and then, not daring to think of the possible consequences, he follows the dementors out of the cell.

There are more dementors lingering in the corridor and for a moment he is in the Hogwarts hospital wing, still Padfoot, with his nose on the bed of a boy who hasn't looked at him since waking up on the floor of the shrieking shack to his worst fear realised.

Then, he is walking past them, softly treading the corridor, one step at a time. It is a struggle to slip through the gate, but he forces his way, panting with the effort. Nobody stirs.

From here he isn't exactly sure of the layout, but slipping through a larger gate at the end of the next corridor brings him to a more brightly lit area.

There is little chance of meeting any of the human guards in the corridor at this hour. They spend most of their time as far away from the dementors as possible, only venturing up to the cells at mealtimes or to collect them on exercise days.

Padfoot bounds down the deserted hallways, half terrified, half ecstatic until he hears the sound of voices and the sporadic music of a partially tuned radio.

A door, slightly ajar, reveals a kitchen space with three female guards sitting around a table playing cards, a steaming, striped kettle in the middle. The strangeness of such a warm, ordinary scene almost causes him to pause, but there is another door directly ahead of him, clearly a back exit that has to be, as overwhelming as it may seem, his way out.

He stops.

If he wants to try the handle then he must -

Not daring to think on it for a moment longer, Sirius transforms and lunges for the door. To his relief, it is unlocked, but the reason why becomes clear moments after he hastily closes it again and becomes Padfoot once more.

Two guards round the corner together, the red tips of their pipes vivid against the night sky, while their wands send lazy tendrils of light along the path before them.

"We need to make a stand," one of them is saying. "It's not illegal to smoke indoors."

They both stop when they see the dog and Padfoot tenses.

"Bleeding heck," hisses the other. "The grim!"

His friend snorts and bends to pat him on the head.

"Get a grip," he says. "It's just a stray. They come in on the boats sometimes. The 'mentors don't seem to bother them as much."

"It'll have fleas then," says his companion. "Or worms."

"No you don't, doggie," says the first man, who seems to have taken something of a shine to him. "But you're half-starved, there's no denying that. Let me take you inside and - ARGH! The bugger bit me!"

"Rabies," Padfoot hears his friend say as he flees, "I hear it makes your face foam up and your legs drop off."

He doesn't stop running even when he gets to the cliffs. He scrambles, half falling and reaches the water's edge in a tumble.

He needs his human mind again to check he has come to the right point - the narrowest stretch of water by his flimsy reckoning - and he takes just a few seconds to drink in the sight of the sea, and feel the wind on his face. It's a dizzyingly welcome sight, and yet the yawning black expanse before him is nearly enough to make him falter. But not for long.

Sirius breaths.

"I'll find him, James," he mutters.

Then, a single movement he runs forward, becoming Padfoot as he does so, and begins to swim.

It's easy at first. The weather is calm and the sky is clear enough that he can see the stars. If he concentrates on the lights from the mainland, he can more or less stay on course.

The distance from the dementors helps too. He feels lighter and more energised with every inch, his mind, even his dog mind, clearer.

The bell comes as a shock. He can barely have been swimming for twenty minutes before it begins, terrifying loud. They have sounded the alarm already.

Panicked, Padfoot flails, tries to up his pace. The light from the tower has tracing magic, but it shouldn't pick up on him as a dog. He has to hope it won't anyway.

He swims.

Eventually, the bell ceases, though he can still sense the light and the buzz of frantic activity from the prison.

A short while later, he begins to tire. He can't even be a quarter of the way across but his limbs ache and his heart threatens to burst through his chest.

Then he feels it; the familiar heart freezing dread.

"Think I see something, just ahead!" A woman's voice.

A cacophony of tangled lumos spells swerve towards him and he ducks beneath the water avoid them.

"Should we use a charm or something?"

"No need," says another. "The 'mentors have been given orders to perform the kiss. If these two sense him, we'll know about it alright. Besides, even if he got his hands on a wand, there isn't magic that could keep a man warm enough in these waters. If he tried to swim it then I say he's already mouldering at the bottom."

"Let's hope not. If we don't bring something back, the Ministry is going to go ballistic."

Padfoot waits until the boat has edged enough ahead of him before he dares move again. The inactivity has made his limbs feel colder and heavy, but he swims.

His pace slows and slows, but he also begins to find himself in a sort of rhythm. After a while, large portions of time seem to pass in quickly.

Then the waters become choppier and he has to use all of his concentration just to stay on course.

It begins to rain and for a few awful minutes he is thrown around by the waves, helpless, no longer knowing which way he is going.

As a teenager, he nearly drowned in the Great Lake trying to coerce a mermaid into visiting Prongs for his birthday. The disgruntled creature, much more frighteningly wild than he had envisioned, had, rather famously amongst the marauders, broken his arm in the process. But Sirius never really told his friends of the moment when she had actually dragged him beneath the surface; when he had kicked and thrashed and fought for air while his throat and lungs filled with water.

Padfoot is fighting in a similar way now, but against the violence of the waves and against his own exhausted body.

He is almost resigned to this ugly, ignoble death when the waters begin to quieten. And then he looks ahead and he sees the shore, shimmering in the first grey glow of morning twilight.

He swims, barely conscious, barely remembering what he is running from, and at some point he staggers on to the beach, landing face first on the stoney shore.

The exhaustion has rendered him human again so he allows himself only a moment with his face pressed in the sand before he pulls himself up, half sobbing, and staggers towards the rocks.

It is absurdly unwise to stay here, and yet is impossible to move further. Once he has found a suitable crevice, a little too small for a man, he concentrates what energy he has left on becoming Padfoot again and curls up inside and into an exhausted sleep.

\-----------

"Sorry Black, it's not me that makes the rules."

Mundungus tries to pat him on the shoulder sympathetically but he shrugs him off, continues his pacing.

"We're down to fewer than ten wands, and that's including the new recruits! The most dangerous thing those three have ever faced is their History of Magic NEWT, and you're sending me home?!"

" _I'm_ not sending you anywhere mate, but I can't say I exactly disagree with the old bugger. You're knackered, you've been on almost every mission for a fortnight and - don't take this the wrong way - but you're still getting to grips with this Lupin business, him being well...you know..."

"Suspended," Arabella Figg chimes in determinedly. In spite of her magical limitations, she has taken on desk duty at headquarters until further notice and is, for some reason, the only member of the Order who staunchly believes in Remus' innocence. "Pending further investigation."

Sirius clenches his fists and tries to sound reasonable, though his mind is whirling. He can't remember the last time he really slept.

"With Moon- with Lupin gone, isn't it even more important that I stay here?"

Mundungus sighs.

"Moody will be here in ten minutes and if he finds you still at headquarters we're all going to get it."

"Fine," says Sirius, stalking out. "If you won't let me fight, there are other ways I can make myself useful."

-

It must be Samhain, because even south of the Scottish border the muggles are at their most ridiculous. The shops are filled with pumpkin faces and skeletons and small children walk the streets with sheets over their heads or run rampant astride makeshift broomsticks.

A few years ago, James caused a muggle child on one of those to actually fly, and Lily didn't speak to him for the rest of the evening.

"I thought she would like it, was his excuse. "She didn't look like such a crybaby with that ugly green mask on. What was she supposed to be anyway?"

It can't be later than seven, but it is already dark. He leaves Minerva on a side street and walks a past a row of living room windows, curtains not yet drawn, watching the families inside bustling and reading themselves for dinner, lit by merry orange lamps. He wonders if James and Lily are doing the same, wonders if James is still bored out of his mind or if Harry has learned any new words after James taught him 'broom'.

There's a chill in the air and the dark aroma of bonfire, which catches in his throat like whisky. He hears the odd crack of a firework in the distance but the sky is too foggy to see them.

Peter's hideout is in one of the old train carriages by the station. A couple of drunks shout something at him as he passes. He climbs through one of the windows, watching out for any new broken glass, and looks around him.

"Anyone in?"

There's a girl, Lucy he thinks she's called, who sleeps there sometimes, but she's usually too off her tits on muggle potions to notice that the door at the end shouldn't lead to anywhere.

When nobody answers, he mutters the charm and turns the handle.

"Wormy it's me - I brought you some...actually I didn't bring you anything, sorry."

Peter's room is rather nice, all things considered. Though small, he has a little bed that hangs suspended above a neat desk and chair. There is a bookshelf in the corner, mostly empty, and a tiny sink and stove, which has been enchanted to let the smoke out discreetly. He says there is even a bath next door, though Sirius has never seen it.

Finding the room empty, he raps on the bathroom door.

"Wormy?"

There is no answer. After knocking again he pushes the door and it opens into a cramped an avocado bathroom with garish floral tiles. It is empty too.

Sirius' pulse quickens. Peter would never leave his hiding place without coming to him. That is unless the death eaters have found him, but when he re-enters the main room he sees it undisturbed; no sign of a forced entrance, no sign of a struggle.

He feels a stab of annoyance that his friend would step out so casually with so much at stake, but it does not dampen the note of disquiet that sounds within him.

He needs to know that James is alright.

Feeling a little dizzy, he stumbles out of the carriage and back to his motorbike. If the Potters are safe he will not be able to locate their house. He try them first, then he can worry about Peter.

-

It takes him a moment to register the sight as he lands. The pop of other witches and wizards apparating around him is disorienting. There is a smell in the air, like the fireworks from before but stronger, much stronger.

As he hops off the bike, a wizard he doesn't recognise grasps his arm and shakes it warmly.

"You've heard the news! I never thought this day would come."

He disappears before Sirius can respond. As he moves closer to the house, a witch kisses him on the cheek. He barely registers it, peering through the gathering crowd at the scene ahead, the ringing in his ears louder than all of it.

He can see now. James and Lily's house; broken, smoking, with the hovering green remains of a diffuse dark mark above it.

And in the middle of the wreckage, there is a figure he recognises.

"Hagrid!"

He stumbles forwards, clumsy on the broken furniture, the smouldering beams, children's toys.

The half-giant is holding a tiny bundle in his arms, sobs wracking his entire body and Sirius' heart stops.

Harry.

He doesn't even realise that he is shouting - Merlin knows what - until Hagrid turns to him.

"They're already...c-c-callin' him the Boy Who Lived," he sobs.

The boy who...

"He's alive."

_He's alive._

"Killed you-know-who stone dead he did. Poor little tyke."

Sirius shakes his head, uncomprehending. Harry is alive, Voldemort has failed. Then...

"Where are James and Lily?"

A large tear drops down Hagrid's nose, and into his beard as he looks over to where another crowd of witches and wizards he doesn't recognise have gathered.

There are two sheets on the ground, lying neatly side by side and he can't for a moment work out what could possibly be underneath until he sees, bile rising in his throat, a strand of red hair curling out from beneath one of them. A serious eyed woman crouching beside it follows his gaze and tucks it back underneath with gentle hands.

And then he's running, scrabbling on his hands and knees where he falls.

"James! James!"

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. You can't come over here right now." A round faced wizard steps in front of him.

"You don't understand - I'm his brother, James' brother."

"Come on now," the man frowns. "I don't know what game you're playing but James Potter didn't have any brothers. That much I do know."

"Get out of my way," he snarls, and then Hagrid's hand is on his shoulder.

"Easy lad. No need to upset 'Arry now. He needs you."

He turns to him, tries to keep his voice steady but it sounds all wrong in his mouth.

"What happened?"

"He came for the boy and something....nobody understands it yet...but he's gone. James and Lily gave their lives to protect their son, and the little'un saved us all."

"They're dead."

"I'm sorry lad."

"Are you...are you sure?"

Another tear plops down Hagrid's cheek.

"I'm sure."

He needs to react, but everything around him is too bright and vital and big, he's lost in it.  
He staggers sideways and only realises he's done so when he's caught by the other wizard who smells overwhelmingly of sweat and peppermint, whose beard scratches at his cheek where he's fallen, whose voice is an invasive, incomprehensible rumble.

"Don't touch me!"

"Easy son," he says, a cacophony of sensations converging into sharp, painful focus. "You've had a shock."

Sirius wriggles from his grasp and draws a ragged breath. It's too much to absorb, but there are things he has to do, things James needs him to do.

"I'm his godfather. Harry will go with me."

"Actually...I've got orders from Dumbledore to bring him to some of Lily's relatives. Blood wards and all that. Just for the time being."

Sirius nods. He will put a few things straight first. Toys and baby food or something...merlin...

"Get him away from this place," he says, brusque, business-like, drowning. "I'll collect him later. Can you apparate?"

He's never thought to ask before.

"Actually erm...I'm waiting on..."

Of course not.

"Take my bike. I won't be needing it."

He hands the keys to Hagrid and touches Harry once on the cheek and -

\--------------

"You're trying to scare me!"

"I'm am not! You saying you can't feel it too?"

Padfoot wakes, confused. The unmistakable dread chill of the dementors is near, but the voices are closer still.

"It does feel a bit miserable down here, but come on, Seb! A haunted island?"

"I don't like it."

"We camped here all night and now you're freaked out?"

"It feels weird now. Colder."

He sticks his nose out of the little cave. Although he can't see anything, he knows they can't be far away, combing the beach for him. He can almost feel their expectant thrill, the promise of the kiss so tantalising close.

It's fully light now. He's slept too long, but if he can just stay crouched in here then...

"Look there's something in here!"

Padfoot growls. The last thing he needs are these idiot muggles drawing attention to him.

"Come on," says the man's voice. "Let's go."

"No look! It's a dog! Are you stuck boy?"

He suppresses the urge to snap at the hand that strokes his nose, but if he makes a run for it now he'll only bring his hunters straight to him.

He climbs out, shaking the damp out of his fur and tries to be charming.

A young couple laden with camping gear peer down at him.

"He's so thin!" says the girl. "And he's frightened!"

"Cool the beans Jen. You're a student vet not Doctor frigging Doolittle."

The boy crouches down too though, and pulls something out of his bag that makes Padfoot's mouth water. His tail wags and, inadvertently, he whines.

The boy grins and peels a strip of bacon from the packet.

"Hungry?"

Even the distant hum of the dementors can't ruin the sensation as it slides down his throat.

"You're a soft touch really," says the girl, mussing her companion's hair. "But you're right. This place doesn't feel right. I think we should head off - you coming dog?"

Padfoot barks an agreement, but neither of them smile. The sky has darkened.

The boy stands warily and the girl puts a protective hand on the scruff of his neck. The coldness grips Padfoot too and, with a lurch of alarm, he sees the governor approach them, the three dementors hovering a few yards away.

"Can we help you?" asks the boy, haughtiness masking disquiet.

He can't see the dementors, Padfoot realises.

"We are looking for a man," says the governor, his empty grey eyes surveying them coldly. "A dangerous convict who escaped from prison last night. Sirius Black."

"But there aren't any prisons near here," says the girl, confused.

"Nevertheless," says the governor, a quiver of magic putting an end to that avenue of enquiry. "If you have seen anything that might help us - "

"Not seen a soul on the beach this morning," says the boy abruptly.

"Just me and my boyfriend and Spot here," says the girl.

The governor stares at them and the part of him that isn't Padfoot senses more complex magic at work but after a moment, seemingly satisfied, the governor nods.

"I would advise you not to linger here," he says. "Sirius Black is dangerous and insane. A murderer."

The three of them watch him leave and, as the dementors recede with him, they all feel the atmosphere lighten.

"What a prick," says the girl.

Her boyfriend gives her an incredulous look.

" _Spot_? He isn't even..."

"I know, I just...I'm not sure why I did that actually."

The boy shakes his head.

"Let's get the hell out of here. I don't fancy running into that murderer bloke. Come on _Spot_."

With another bark, Padfoot follows the two of them up the slope and towards a dilapidated van. The girl opens the back and he hops in, nestling into a space beside tentpoles and rucksacks and half empty bottles of vodka. Then, she belts herself into the driver's seat.

"Where next?"

"Inland," says her boyfriend, lighting up a cigarette. "I've had enough of the sea."

"Goodo."

The smell of the smoke drifts backwards to Padfoot, curled up and warmer than he's been since setting foot in Azkaban. And in the space between dreaming and wakefulness, he remembers a day he has not been able remember in twelve years.

\-----------

Sirius nips out for a cigarette shortly after falling into the punch.

The dancing is still in full swing, though a few groups have retreated to various nooks and crannies around the village hall. He stumbles over McGonagall having a heated debate about the Chudley Cannons with Elphias Doge over a sherry on the front steps.

"Maintaining the proud standards of Gryffindor I see, Mr Black."

Sirius runs a hand through his dripping wet hair and offers her his most flirtatious smile.

"Best man duties are complex and many, _Minerva."_

"Indeed," she replies, unmoved. "So far they have appeared to consist of leaving the wedding rings in a public toilet, giving a lengthy speech of such lurid and vulgar content that many who heard it consider themselves altered for life, and now, apparently, dousing yourself from head to toe in a pungent alcoholic beverage."

"I also provide James with tissues," says Sirius. "He's cried seventeen times and it's only one in the morning."

McGonagall's mouth quirks.

"Mrs Potter, thankfully, has displayed rather more self-possession thus far."

He surmises that Lily, last seen violently galloping Remus around the room to the song Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick, has not been observed by McGonagall for some hours.

Sirius chooses not to tell on her and takes his leave.

It is a warm night, thick with the rich, heady, smells of summer and he stands under a tree feeling full to the brim with life and possibility; a sentiment that is only marginally dampened when he discovers that his tobacco is soaked through with punch. He makes an attempt at a drying spell but he's so half cut that the packet goes up in flames instead and disappears in a puff of tobacco smoke.

"Bugger."

The singed tobacco smell lingers for a moment, and then a new scent curls out of it, one that Padfoot recognises at once.

 _Moony_.

"Would you like this pint of lager?"

Remus, awkwardly handsome in his borrowed dress robes, face flushed from dancing, approaches with a soft, private smile that warms him to his toes. Sirius tears his eyes away to look as skeptically as his wine addled head will allow at the proffered beverage but Remus only shrugs.

"One of the Prewetts gave it to me. Said they were trying to sample the delights of muggle culture but they found it a bit too...I believe they used the word 'claggy'."

Sirius takes the glass suspiciously and sips. It is surprisingly inoffensive. He raises the glass regally, placing one hand on the tree to keep his balance.

"Tonight," he hiccups, "has been a most triumphant and auspicious occasion."

"The auspiciousest," says Remus solemnly.

"A day of intense emotion."

"Many tears were shed. Mostly by you and James."

"A day that will be remembered for a very long time."

"For millennia."

He takes in the scene around him; the hanging lanterns in the trees, the distant jangle of the ceilidh band who are now apparently taking requests from a variety of genres, the pockets of people dotted around, so many of whom he cares about, and Remus Lupin standing here beside him.

"I sometimes worry," he says, a wisp of real concern momentarily clouding his mood.

"Tell me your fears, oh poet."

"I worry that days like this one will use up all the happiness there is to be had and there will be nothing left for later."

Remus tries to disguise his snort as a cough and is largely unsuccessful, but when he turns back there is something tender in his eyes.

"Too much?" Sirius asks.

"A bit," says Remus mildly, "but I commend the sentiment."

He reaches forward then to pull Sirius's face gently upwards towards his, and kisses him lightly on the lips.

"For christ's sake," says a voice he vaguely recognises as Lily's repugnant brother-in-law to be.

Remus, usually shy, only laughs and wraps his arms around him tighter as the footsteps pass them and they hear the sound of a car pulling away.

"Good grief," he murmurs. "You are entirely drenched in punch."

Sirius grins and kisses him again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. October 31st, 1981

  
Remus has brought jam sandwiches for lunch. He's hungry enough to eat them now, but it is still only eleven in the morning.

He doesn't know this part of town well enough to apparate discreetly so he has walked the four or so miles in the drizzle, leaving too much time as usual, and now has twenty minutes to kill before his interview and nowhere warm to go that won't cost him the price of a cup of tea.

The street is a quiet one. A few generic office buildings, a car park and a pawn shop with a collection of Cliff Richard cassette tapes in the window. It's a particular manner of muggle dreariness that he's become used to these past few years; almost aggressively lacking in anything but the commonplace.

His stomach gives a low growl and in a moment of weakness he reaches into his satchel and unwraps a single sandwich quarter (squares, never triangles), placing the rest carefully back inside so he won't be too tempted to polish it off.

He eats it in small bites and there is a pleasing momentary glow as the sugar rushes to his head, but the fog doesn't completely lift. He's felt this way; achey, befuddled and mildly feverish, since the last full back on the thirteenth. Not surprising considering the violence of that transformation, shackled to a tree in the pouring rain with nowhere dry to rest afterwards. And there are plenty more of those to look forward to if he doesn't get himself some more work sharpish. The war might have brought the entire world to a standstill, but full moons and the price of milk are unchanging.

That's partly why the ferals live in packs. They sleep outside together after a full moon, sharing each other's warmth as they recover. But even having lost the last of his own pack now, Remus is not able to go to them, not even when the loneliness slices through him as keenly as the cold. He is not what they all think he is. He is not the wolf that lives uneasily in his bones, not a weak creature to be used by Voldemort and his followers, and he is not a traitor, no matter how unjustly the side of 'light' treat his kind.

He did know really, in that quietest part of himself, that things would end up this way. He has spent most of his life preparing to be alone, it's just that somehow he hasn't quite succeeded. He allowed himself to become accustomed to it all, the weight of friendly arms slung around his shoulder, legs entangled with his in the night. He almost started to believe that he was worthy of it.

Yet, now the worst has happened, he has decided he is going to be alright. He has always put one foot in front of the other, no reason to stop now.

In that sprint of cheerful stoicism, he makes towards the building's front door.

The receptionist looks at him warily when he arrives, but she points him in the direction of the men's lavatory obligingly enough. Once inside, he pulls his good shirt out of his bag and changes awkwardly in the farthest cubicle. He also spells his shoes clean, though there's not much he can do about their condition or - for some reason, his fever perhaps - their dampness.

It's only when he checks himself in the mirror that he realises he has forgotten to shave.

Shit.

He still has ten minutes. Sometimes it's a blessing to carry everything you own in a single battered satchel.

A well dressed, youngish bloke comes in while he's trying to get the hand soap to lather on his cheeks, gives him a dirty look, but he manages a decent shave, only drawing blood twice and only one of those times bleeding badly enough to get any on his clean, spell-pressed shirt.

All in all it's going very well.

The receptionist even looks at him a bit more warmly when he emerges clean and nearly respectable looking.

"Lupin," she says smiling, running a manicured finger down her list to his name. "Like the bunny rabbit."

"Actually I think you're thinking of the fr..." _Nobody likes a know-it-all, Moony_ says a voice in his head that makes his chest glow and tighten at the same time. A singular pain. "Never mind."

"Somebody should be along in a minute to show you through," she says. Remus sits down gratefully and feels the warmth from the radiator begin to thaw out his limbs a little.

He hears, without looking up, the swing of a door opening and a man's voice: "I must say Deborah, you're looking radiant in that blouse. Just checking that everything out here is tickety boo, as they say on the continent."

"Actually Sir, the next candidate has already arrived."

Remus smooths his shirt out anxiously as the figure approaches him.

He is a chunky man, wearing a suit that is too large for him and a moustache that looks like a costume prop on his pink, boyish face.

"Don't I know you?"

Ah.

"No," he lies, standing quickly, recalling suddenly, painfully, the smell of punch and a song about rhythm sticks. "My name is -"

"I do know you. From the wedding a year or two back. You and that other bloke..."

The man's small eyes narrow to pinholes.

"Oh yes of course," says Remus, offering his hand, trying to ignore his blush. "Lily's sister's...I'm sorry I don't remember your name."

The man does not take it, instead standing up straighter and puffing out his chest.

"'Spose I shouldn't be surprised that somebody from that crowd hasn't bothered to wear a tie. The name's Vernon Dursley and I'm the director here at Grunnings."

Remus wonders then if it is worth going through with the interview at all, but the man motions for him to follow with a grunt and is soon leading him down the corridor. And Remus has already decided that today is a good day.

In the spirit of good days they meet an employee in the corridor who simply must have the man's signature that very moment and he is sent in to the rest of the interview panel - two middle aged men with matching side partings - alone. Remus is able to get through the preliminary niceties relatively unscathed.

"I don't recognise some of these qualifications," says the side parting seated to his left.

"I attended an independent school," says Remus, as he always does.

"But as you can see, I also have my typing certificate and references..."

"Both of these references mention absences," says the side parting to his right.

"I have had some...health related issues which I - "

"As long as your are not a shirker Mr Lupin," says the first side parting as the door slides open and Vernon re-enters ahead of a woman with with a tray of tea and, game-changingly, biscuits. "There is no place for shirkers at Grunnings is there Mr Dursley?"

"Quite right," says the man, sitting down between them at the desk with a nasty smile at Remus. The woman bustles back out. One of the side partings pours him a cup and pushes it towards him, motioning to the tray of milk and sugar.

Both men look to Vernon, but he simply shakes his head and continues to scowl at Remus.

"Tell me Mr Lupin," says left side-parting, leaning forward in his chair as if he is about to ask a question about the very nature of existence. "What is your biggest flaw?"

Remus struggles to contain a small, exasperated sigh. He pretends to think and uses the time to place three lumps of sugar in his cup. After a moment's hesitation he takes a custard cream as well.

He has enjoyed the wonderful feeling of the hot liquid in his throat, warming the whole of him, for rather a long time before he realises they are still waiting for an answer.

Oh yes. Biggest flaw.

Cowardice. Self loathing. Turning into a monster and trying to kill people.

"I suppose you could say I'm a perfectionist."

  
All three look pointedly at his bedraggled appearance, the bloodstain above his shirt pocket, and write studiously on their paper. Vernon snorts contemptuously.

"And finally, Mr Lupin," says that same side-parting, which Remus decides is really more of a comb-over, "what is it about drills that excites you?"

He has by this point consigned this interview to his multitudinous pile of failures. He allows himself to savour the last of his tea, even reaches for another biscuit; a pink wafer. Might as well.

Eventually he says: "They are quite helpful for building things."

  
\-----------

Vernon Dursley shows him out. Remus isn't much inclined to make conversation but the man hovers next to him by the doorway as he is about to leave.

"Well," he says, unable to keep the waspish note out of his voice, "it's been a treat to see you again."

Vernon doesn't seem to notice his tone.

"Petunia's been wondering about her sister," he says gruffly. "Can't get a hold of her. I was wondering if you..."

Remus sighs and reaches for the last of his patience.

"I know Lily has told you both something of what's going on."

"Some mumbo jumbo to do with that cult you all - "

"She is in danger," Remus cuts in curtly, and the red-faced man looks just concerned enough at that to take the edge off of his anger.

"Your wife won't hear from her for a while," he goes on, as kindly as he can. "But she is in the safest possible hands. That I can promise."

Once he is far enough away from Grunnings, he has a seat on a wall and pulls out the letter Lily wrote him months ago, when they first went into hiding.

_Dear Remus,_

  
_I don't hope you can forgive us for not saying a proper goodbye. I'm sure you know why so I won't try to gloss over it._  
_The war has brought out the worst in all of us. Sometimes I'm so afraid for Harry and James and you lot that I can hardly breathe, but I think it's even worse for James. You know what he's like, how he feels responsible for everyone, how he needs to take charge and make everything all alright. But how can anyone make all of this alright?_  
_The truth is, James is an idiot but he's a brave, terrified, wonderful idiot and I love him all the more fiercely for it. And he loves you, Remus, every bit as much as I do.  
I just hope that when we meet again you can remember that and forgive him this idiotic, blinkered moment in light of a decade of friendship. Until then, look after Sirius for us._

  
_All my love,  
Lily_

_  
\-----------_

Remus eats two more squares of jam sandwich and spends the rest of his afternoon in the public library. Somebody has borrowed the book he was reading so he pulls Jane Eyre from the shelf and tries to nourish the day's dwindling spirit of autonomy and perseverance with an old favourite.

The library is open late for a children's event - something to do with ghost stories - so he is able to enjoy the warmth there and the buzz of chatter and laughter until it gets dark.

Once it closes, he finds somewhere quiet and apparates. He is no longer privy to Order plans, but he knows they are going to raid the Goyle place sooner or later. The old house was an upmarket town residence before they built the muggle supermarket at the end of the street. Now it is practically a ruin, and a prime location for covert death-eater activity.

Remus knows he only needs to lurk closely enough to the house for the other werewolf to sense him, if he's there.

He eats his last square of sandwich while he waits, which somehow only makes him more hungry. There is a little more bread in his bag, he could make another, but there is tomorrow to think about too, and the next day and the next.

Luckily, the person he is waiting for appears before his strength is tested.

  
Mark is nineteen; a muggle who was bitten only a couple of years ago. He escaped a ministry centre and found a home with a pack near Birmingham, which is where Remus first met him. Most of that pack has dispersed now, some gone into hiding, most, like Mark, to Voldemort's ranks.

"John," he says, looking around him anxiously. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Came to see you," says Remus.

Mark's eyes narrow. He is still wearing the muggle clothes Remus remembers him in, and his jumper covers his arms so he can't see if he's taken the dark mark. He suspects, for a muggle and a dark creature, that it's unlikely. Even if Mark wished to, he would never be deemed worthy. Remus follows him down the street a little way, near to the supermarket car park.

"I knew you weren't really one of us," Mark says when they are far enough away. "Always harping on about ideology. Who are you working for then? The ministry? Come to tell me to fight for the so-called side of light?"

"No," says Remus. "Not the ministry."

"I don't owe those bastards anything. When I was first bitten the people I went to for help were wizards. They threw stones at me. Hexed me."

"I know," says Remus.

"And then they threw me in that hell hole. Basically a prison - when I'd done nothing wrong. The Dark Lord's going to change all that."

Remus swallows, weighs his words.

"I can't deny that the way things are is unfair, but the Dark Lord believes in a world that places pureblood wizards above everyone else. Where do you think muggles and half bloods will factor in that, never mind werewolves?"

"Can't be any worse than it is now," says Mark, pulling something out of his rucksack that has been causing Remus' senses to prickle distractingly. Remus isn't quick enough mask the way that the aroma of hot meat makes his heart beat faster and Mark gives him a meaningful look before breaking off half and handing it to him.

  
"Steak pasty," he says. "Still warm."

  
"I wasn't..."

"Christ's sake John, I can tell well enough when someone's bloody ravenous. Take it."

Remus gives in, eats deliberately slowly to preserve what dignity he has left. It tastes so good he could almost weep.

"Thank you."

"Thought you said you had a place to go."

"That...changed," says Remus quietly. "But things are fine. I'm fine. What I'm here for is - "

"I could put in a good word for you here, you know. You'd get a warm place to sleep, bit of cash in hand," he grins impishly, "steak pasties..."

"Sooner or later they're going to want you to hurt somebody."

Mark stiffens, and Remus wonders if he is already too late.

"We're at war," says Mark. "Greyback says - "

"Greyback," Remus growls, unprepared for that name. "Greyback bit me when I was five. He waited deliberately outside my bedroom window until the moon came up so that he could maul a sleeping child. Do you really think somebody like that has a care for the rights or wrongs of this?"

Mark pales.

"I need to get back. If they find you here..."

"It's not too late," says Remus, urgently. "You can still leave. I have contacts who can help you."

_Before the Order gets here and you end up dead._

"You don't understand," says Mark. "They are going to - "

"Mark, that you?" A voice calls from the other end of the street. "What the hell are you doing over there?"

"Things are about to change," says Mark, zipping up his rucksack and hurrying away. "Look after yourself."

Remus watches him leave with a sort of helpless, broken-hearted rage. There is no point in apparating when there is nowhere else he needs to be, and he's cold again. A walk will do him good.

He has only gone a few paces when somebody grabs hold of him from behind and presses a wand to his neck.

"What are you doing here Lupin?"

"Alice?!"

"How did you know we were here? You shouldn't be able to get that information any more."

Remus raises his hands and the witch allows him to wriggle from her grasp, but she doesn't lower her wand.

"I don't have any information, I just knew this place would be raided sooner or later..."

"So you came to warn them. Just in case!"

"No I - "

She fires a spark from her wand that whistles threateningly past his face.

"I don't care," she says. "Tell me what they've done with Frank. Tell me that and maybe I'll let you go."

Remus blinks.

"They've got Frank?"

"You tell me," says Alice, her expression fierce and her eyes bright with tears. Remus draws a ragged breath.

"I know what you all think and I...I don't know how to persuade you otherwise, but I'm not with them. I only came here to try and persuade somebody I know, who doesn't deserve any of this, to get out while he still can."

"A werewolf."

"Yes," says Remus tersely. "A werewolf."

Something in Alice's expression is shifting.

"Are you saying that you're not the traitor?"

"Look, I haven't had access to Order stuff for weeks. This one was a guess. Has any information been leaked since I've been gone?"

Alice opens her mouth, halts and closes it again.

"I'll take that as a yes," he says grimly.

"So all this time you've been sneaking around, turning up to these places to try and _rehabilitate werewolves?"_

"It's actually rather more...well yes, more or less."

"And you didn't ever try to explain this to anyone in the Order, to Sirius?"

"They had already made up their minds," he says through clenched teeth. "And anyway it's not like I had a choice. Moody would never have allowed it but I don't have a choice. It's me who failed these people so the very least I can do is..."

"Remus you utter idiot."

Ridiculously, that's the kindest thing anyone has said to him in weeks and his eyes fill with tears.

"Merlin's beard, what a fucking mess," says Alice. "Listen, can I take you into headquarters? I'll need to cuff you, I can't make any decisions about things myself, but we can get this straightened out and - "

An owl swoops out of the darkness and plops a tiny note into Alice's free hand. He recognises the breed, favoured by the Order for their swiftness and discretion. Alice spells it open, and reads quickly. Her face grows pale and her body almost sags for a moment, but she is carefull to incinerate the parchment with her wand afterwards.

"What's happened? Is it Frank?"

  
"Oh Remus," she looks genuinely conflicted, and her voice catches in a sob. "I can't - I have to go."

"Wait - at least tell me what's..."

Alice lowers her wand and steps away from him.

"I'm so sorry," she says, and apparates.

\-----------

Remus learns that Voldemort is dead from a group of witches who have spelled the fountain in the square to run with bubblewine. One grabs his hands and pirouettes herself around him, another kisses him on the cheek.

Stay and celebrate with us they say, but he doesn't stop.

He apparates to the cottage. Sirius seemingly, in spite of his suspicions about Remus, has not bothered to change the locks, and he is almost annoyed by the man's flagrant lack of regard for his own safety.

The place is a mess. The bed unmade, clothes everywhere, an empty glass or bowl on every surface, countless empty bottles. No sign of Sirius. By the mould on some of the plates it could have been days since he has been back.

For a moment, he thinks of the scent that still clung to Sirius' body the last time he saw him and wonders if perhaps...but there isn't time for that now.

He tries using the floo to get to headquarters, but they have thought of that too and the protective charms against him send him flying backwards into the battered old sofa.

When he finally overhears the news about James and Lily, he is on Diagon Alley. He almost loses his footing and the steak pasty in one.

"You alright mate?" A plump, middle aged wizard grins, dusting him off.

"Been celebrating a bit too hard? Can't say I blame you!"

Remus pulls away and apparates again so abruptly that he nearly splinches himself, lands heavily on his hands and knees at Godric's Hollow. It is dawn and the sight is almost beautiful.

The remains of the house are surrounded in a ring of brightly coloured flowers and tendrils of light from a thousand different wands hover above its roof, glowing softly in the morning twilight.

He tries saying the words in his head as he approaches the fence.

They're dead. James and Lily are dead. Sirius was secret keeper, which means he is probably dead too.

None of it feels real, it is as if his body is under an ocean, cut off from everything that is happening around him by a mile's weight of water.

Then somebody puts a hand on his shoulder, drags him to the surface.

"Friend of yours was he?"

Remus turns blearily.

"What?"

"James Potter. You knew him?"

He is too overwhelmed to notice the coldness in the man's tone because he has just remembered -

"Where's Harry?" he asks urgently. "He'll need to come with us - with me - "

The man's expression hardens.

"You won't be going anywhere with Harry Potter," he says, motioning deftly to somebody behind him. Remus turns.

A tall woman in Ministry robes peers at him through a pair of horn rimmed spectacles, pulls her wand out with unhurried assurance. An Auror, clearly.

"Remus Lupin," she says.

"Yes..."

"We have a few questions to ask you."

\-----------

The department they bring him to is in an uproar. There are so many owls trying to fly in and out that dozens of them are perched on desks or on the windowsills outside waiting to be tended to. It takes the Auror a good twenty minutes to decide where to put him, but eventually they find him an empty cell.

He would ask what they want with him, but it doesn't feel as if it matters much any more.

At some point he must fall asleep, because outside it has become dark again without him noticing. He gets up and begins to pull at the door handle urgently. When it doesn't move, he kicks the door, begins to shout.

A harried, red faced Auror opens the door.

"That's enough! What do you think you're doing eh?"

Remus steps back, suddenly confused. What was he doing?

"I'm sorry," he croaks, "I didn't realise..."

The man shakes his head.

"We're bringing you in for questioning in half an hour. Keep your bloomin' mouth shut until then."

The door closes. Remus takes a deep breath, but the overwhelming urge to get out doesn't leave him. It is almost a physical pain in the pit of his stomach.

Then he realises what it is.

Intentionally or not, Sirius is calling for him using the vouching magic. Somehow, somewhere, Sirius is alive.

He tries not to panic. Though Voldemort has been defeated, many of his followers will still be at large and he knows it is almost certain that Sirius has been captured. How else would they have got to James and Lily?

The thought of the Potters looms horribly. He's going to have to engage with it at some point, and it threatens to overwhelm him now, but he must keep his head, he needs to convince them to let him out so he can get to Sirius.

It is an interminably long time before they come and get him. Two female Aurors bind his hands magically and walk him down a long white corridor. Neither of them will speak to him.

They lead him to a brightly lit room where the Auror from Godric's Hollow and a blonde haired young wizard he doesn't recognise stand, waiting for him.

They release his hands and motion to a solitary, high backed chair. He sits tentatively.

"Place your hands on the arms of the chair, Mr Lupin," says the witch.

Remus obeys, then attempts to lift one arm to sweep his hair from his eyes. With a startling swooshing noise, a length of rope appears and pulls his arm back down, securing it painfully.

"It's easiest if you do not fidget," says the wizard, almost kindly.

  
The rope disappears in a few moments, but Remus does not dare move again.

The severety of the restraint surprises him a little, though it's no worse than he experienced at the department for dark creatures. Perhaps the Aurors know that he is a werewolf or perhaps the Order have reported him as a death eater; he’ll need to put that right quickly.

The woman folds her arms and peers down at him through her little glasses.

"What is the nature of your relationship with Sirius Black?"

Remus blinks.

"My..."

"You are a werewolf."

"Yes."

The wizard points his wand and a quill begins to make notes in a thick leather-bound book that hovers slightly to his right.

"And you are currently registered under vouching magic at the property of Sirius Orion Black."

"Yes."

"Our files state that you are also a homosexual."

"They...oh..."

"So I ask you again, what is the nature of your relationship with Sirius Black."

Remus' mind is whirling, but he knows the rules of the vouching magic - no spouses or partners - and the last thing he needs at this moment is to be taken back to the department for dark creatures.

"I haven't seen Sirius for nearly four weeks. But if you know where he is then I really must go to him. The Potters you see, they were our friends and Harry - "

"You moved out of Black's abode?"

"Yes."

"And where have you been living since then?"

"I've been...between places."

"Staying with a friend perhaps?"

"Not exactly."

"Then you have been sleeping rough."

Remus, forgetting himself, moves to pinch the bridge of his nose and another length of rope snaps him back into position.

"Would you mind telling me what's going on? Has something happened to Sirius? Whatever it is I have no idea, you can ask Alice or Peter - Peter Pettigrew will explain..."

"Peter Pettigrew is dead, Mr Lupin, and your connection to the high ranking death eater Sirius Black strongly implicates - "

"Peter's dead? - Sirius the _what?"_

The door opens and another Auror bursts in.

"We have him. We've arrested Sirius Black. We need all of you at central office now."

Both Aurors straighten up and pull out their wands.

"Merlin, what a couple of days," says the wizard, closing the book with a flick of his wand.

"What do you want me to do with the werewolf?" asks the witch, motioning to Remus. "He is likely harmless enough but he'll need to be registered with a new vouch."

"Have Crooks look into it," says the Auror at the door. "We can bring him back for questioning when things have calmed down a bit."

The woman escorts him briskly back to his cell, deaf to all of his questions. The door closes behind her with a click and Remus sinks down into the corner, unable to stop his body from shaking.

James, Lily, Peter gone and Sirius...he doesn't dare to speculate, and yet there is a part of him that howls _of course, of course._ He ought to have known that this is what would come of thinking somebody could ever want him.

At some point he starts to weep. It is a relief at first, but then he doesn't seem to be able to stop.

Eventually, the door creaks open and another Auror binds his hands and tells him to follow.

Remus doesn't ask where they are going.

"Have you eaten?" asks the man, opening a door into a small, cosy looking office with a cheerful fire burning in the grate.

Remus wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm, shakes his head.

"I'm not hungry."

  
The man looks sympathetic.

"I don't blame you, son. And I'm sorry for the cuffs. By my understanding you've done nothing wrong, but this is the way they want it."

Remus nods disinterestedly.

"In situations like this, vouching spells usually pass to next of kin, but Walburga Balck has made her feelings about that clear."

Remus raises his head at that.

"Walburga Black? But - "

The man won't meet his eyes, continues babbling.

"So we've tracked down another relative - tricky to find ones that haven’t already been arrested to be honest haha - and I'm going to apparate with you there now."

Something remote in Remus begins to flicker urgently, but the man is already reaching for him, wand in hand.

“Ready?” he asks. Remus is about to speak, but there isn't time and in a few queasy moments he is chewed up violently and spat back out on the floor of a large and rather grand hall. The man picks himself up, flustered, and helps Remus to his feet.

“Excuse the clumsy arrival,” he says. “I understand you are expecting us.”

There are two figures in the hall, one he recognises, one he does not. Bellatrix Lestrange takes a long look at Remus and smiles widely.

“Look Barty,” she says. "Our guest has arrived."  
 


	13. Written Regret

Remus wakes to the sharp odour of grass and the taste of dirt in his mouth.

It is usually this way, the senses returning quicker than the mind. He feels the ground wet against his bare skin and the cold prickle of goosebumps too, before he begins to know himself again.

He hasn't woken outside in so long that he imagines for a moment that he must be back in the the war but he realises now that the sounds and smells of this place are much more familiar than that, much more like home.

And there is something else. Another scent lingering all around him, even on his own skin, siren-loud.

Padfoot.

With a yelp, he tries to sit up, the previous night’s events emerging from his memory in a terrible concurrent tangle but his bruised and fragile body protests. He leans over, thinking he is going to vomit, but he only has the strength to cough feebly.

Peter alive and Sirius. Oh gods Sirius.

“I've found him Poppy!”

The shout brings him fully to startled alertness and he realises, too late to do anything but sit up and try to cover himself clumsily with his knees and arms that he, a Hogwarts professor, is bollock naked on the grounds of the school in close-to broad daylight.

Hagrid, never one to be unduly worried by such trivialities as nudity, smiles down at Remus like they are meeting in the staffroom.

“There yeh are,” he says. “Had us all worried.”

At least it isn't the Malfoy boy, he thinks. Or Snape.

Poppy is close behind and there is a blanket around his shoulders and a familiar hand on his forehead, brushing back his hair before he can say a word. For her, all that has changed since the seventies is that she now grudgingly allows him to call her by her first name.

“You've had a difficult night young man,” she fusses. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No I have to - Sirius….”

“Sirius Black is long gone,” she says grimly. “Eluded the dementors once again I’m afraid, but at least he’s far from Hogwarts. He won't dare to come back here in a hurry.”

Sirius Black, thinks Remus in a detached sort of way, will do whatever he bloody well wants as he always has. But her words do not fail to cause the glow that has been quietly expanding in his chest, as he recalls more of the evenings events, to abruptly flicker out.

Something has gone badly wrong.

“There must have been a terrible misunderstanding,” he begins. “Peter Pettigrew was there in the shack and…”

“Peter Pettigrew? My poor boy, are you feeling dizzy? I've never known you to talk nonsense after a transformation.”

“It isn't nonsense, Poppy. It is absolutely imperative that I speak with Dumbledore. But first -“ Another thought crashes back. “Tell me, Harry - the children - are they all safe?”

“Safer than houses,” says Hagrid, hoisting him to his feet.

“Poor Ronald Weasley will need a day or two for that leg to be fully right,” Poppy adds. “But the others are already itching to get back to school. I was barely able to keep them in for the night.”

She will hear no more about Sirius Black and ‘poor brave Peter’ and so the three of them make their way back to the school in relative silence, Remus supported by both because he - quite reasonably he feels - refuses to let Hagrid carry him.

“You didn't umm…get a little peckish did yeh? Last night I mean?” the half-giant asks him, somewhat sheepishly.

“It wouldn't exactly be unheard of for a werewolf,” says Remus, irritated, but at the sight of Hagrid’s dismayed expression he adds quickly: “But I would certainly know about it if anything of…that sort had happened.”

He got a sheep once, before Prongs and Padfoot could stop him and the blood the next day…Merlin…

“You're sure? Only Buckbeak - not sure if yeh heard the good news - but he escaped. Flew off in the nick of time…only no one’s seen a single feather of him since then and -“

“I'm certain Hagrid.”

_I’m certain that I did not eat your sodding hippogriff._

He might have been annoyed, but Hagrid is perhaps the only person he has ever met who treats every single creature on earth with the same kindness. If he bumped into Remus under a full moon he would probably try to invite him into his cottage and pet his belly. And so Remus smiles as reassuringly as he can.

“He’s an intelligent fellow, Buckbeak. He will be far from here by now, I'm sure of it.”

Hagrid nods gratefully.

“I only hope he’s not alone,” he says. “He’ll be needin’ a friend about now.”

——————

Poppy may think that he is still a boy, but Remus makes no pretence of obeying her orders to rest. Once they deliver him to his room he stays only long enough to pull on a pair of trousers and a shirt. He passes her in the corridor as he hurries out again, deaf to her protests.

Once he is safely out of her sight, he takes a second to catch his breath, holding on to the wall as the corridor stops spinning.

“You ought to be in bed, old stick,” says a painting of a stout, bearded wizard he doesn't recognise.

“Shut up,” says Remus.

Pomona Sprout and he sometimes share the joke that neither of them can imagine Dumbledore having a bedroom at all, and that even knocking on the door of his study stirs in them a level of awed anxiety entirely inappropriate for grown adults. But he is beyond any of that now.

He doesn't stop again until he is pounding on Dumbledore’s door. It opens quickly and the old man, looking strikingly unlike his usual self in a pair of striped flannel pyjama trousers and vest, doesn't appear at all surprised to see him.

“Ah Remus. I am glad you are safely returned.”

“Headmaster - I’m sorry to disturb you but there isn't time to - you see, Sirius Black - “

“I know,” says Dumbledore, silencing him with a motion of his thin, bare arm.

“But - “

“Come in,” he says. “We can get to my office through the floo.”

Dumbledore’s bedroom is a surprisingly simple affair. There is a single bed next to a table with a framed picture of a young girl on top, and a battered old wingback chair by the window. The only nod to decoration is the bedcover and curtains, both made from the same bright purple velvet, trimmed with garish, shiny silver.

“I found the fabric at Brixton Market,” says Dumbledore serenely, noticing his interest. “For a very good price.”

“It's ah…very nice,” Remus lies, registering this moment as one of the more bizarre instances of his life.

The fireplace is wide enough for two and Remus quickly finds himself in the more familiar surroundings of the headmaster’s office. Dumbledore lights the lamps, donning a robe that seems to be hanging on the door for just such an occasion and sits at his desk. Soon things appear almost normal. Except that everything has changed.

“Sirius Black is innocent.”

“I know,” says Dumbledore again and motions for him to sit down at the desk.

Remus stays put, blinking.

“If you know, then what…”

“I am afraid it seems Peter Pettigrew was able to escape at an…opportune moment, and without him there is only the word of three underage wizards and...”

“And a werewolf,” Remus finishes, his heart sinking.

“Regretfully, I share your assumption that your testimony will not be given the appropriate regard by the authorities.

“And Sirius?”

“Please sit down, Remus, or I shall be duty bound to send you back to Madam Pomfrey,” says Dumbledore, kindly though not without a hint of steeliness.

Remus obeys, placing his hands on his lap to keep them from shaking.

“Black was captured,” says the old man, “but he escaped before the dementors could administer the kiss.”

“How?”

“I have no idea,” says Dumbledore.

“Harry?”

“Harry and Hermione were in the hospital wing with Ronald Weasley for the duration of the incident.”

Dumbledore pauses then and peers at him a little more intently through his half-moon spectacles.

“Aiding him would quite simply have required them to be in two places at once.”

There is something bright in the headmaster’s eyes that gives him pause, but he is in no fit state to puzzle out Dumbledore’s riddles now. Something for later then.

“Did he…did Sirius leave anything for me? A message?”

The old man’s expression is almost too kind to be bearable.

“I don't believe he had the opportunity, my boy.”

Remus thinks again of the moment in the shack when he pulled the filthy, raving shadow of Sirius Black to his feet. The man was a ghost, a stranger, stiff and wary when he’d clung to him. It had been an act of sheer, overwhelmed relief, but now he feels uneasy. How can he possibly know if such things were welcome from him? How can he know anything at all?

“This is my fault,” he says. “I neglected to take the wolfsbane.”

“Quite understandable under the circumstances,” says Dumbledore, blithely.

He is long acquainted with mutterings about the headmaster’s apparent lack of regard for student safety, but he never imagined he would be required to spell out something like this.

“Somebody could have been killed,” he says, incredulous. “It was inexcusable. I must ask you to accept my resignation.”

Dumbledore sighs.

“Must you?”

“Yes!” splutters Remus. “I see now that Snape was right all along. I should never have presumed...”

He rubs his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted and, absurdly, a little tearful. The old man regards him levelly.

“Sirius Black evaded the dementors twice you know,” he says. “I am not equipped with all of the details, but I understand that in the first instance Harry was the one to ward them off.”

“You mean to say he managed a fully corporeal? That’s extraordinary!”

“You are an excellent teacher, Remus. Quite exceptional in fact.”

In spite of it all, he feels himself blushing.

“I can hardly take credit for that,” he says, awkwardly. “Harry is Lily and James’ son through and through.”

“Results for defence against the dark arts are better than they have been in fifteen years,” Dumbledore persists. “Neville Longbottom achieved an Exceeds Expectations. The students adore you.”

“Neville worked hard,” says Remus. “But the fact remains: it isn't safe or appropriate for me to be here. And besides,” he tries to smile, “everyone knows about the curse. Has anyone ever made it beyond a year?”

“Professor Saddleworth did continue for a second year in 1965,” he says. “But in truth that was after her untimely demise and therefore in ghost form.”

Remus snorts, too exhausted to mind his manners and the headmaster smiles indulgently.

“I only ask you to not to make your decision yet. The curse indeed exists, but believe me; it is possible to face such obstacles and prevail. Patience, kindness, tolerance - these things are always stronger than magic, and they are qualities that you possess in abundance.”

Remus squirms and scratches his nose.

“I'll think on it,” he says.

Dumbledore smiles, clearly aware that he has bested Remus with his own embarrassment and not a bit sorry.

“Thank you Remus,” he says, innocently. “I appreciate it.”

—————-

He tries for an hour of sleep, but though his body is a dead weight, his mind will not be still. The initial euphoria at Sirius’ innocence is quickly turning to horror at wrongs that it is over a decade too late to right, and the part he himself has played in them.

He usually needs the morning after a change to sleep off the wolfsbane, even when his transformation has not been violent, and today is rather worse than usual. But when seven o’ clock arrives he simply cannot keep to his room. He needs to see Harry and the others for himself - and of course there is Snape to consider…Merlin, he had almost forgotten the part that meddling fool had played.

After allowing himself the luxury of a brief bath - all staff members have one in their room - he drags himself down to the great hall, ignoring the creaks and protests from his aching body.

It is clear from the moment he enters that it has happened.

The talking does not cease altogether, but there is an insidious murmuring that begins most flagrantly at the Slytherin table and travels all the way around the hall. He feels the hundreds of eyes on him like a prickling on his skin, but worse than that, mere hours from his transformation, he can smell their fear so strongly it makes his nose twitch.

The desperate urge to bolt is inhibiting his ability to think, and yet his feet are heavy, rooted to the floor. Run, he thinks, move, do _something_.

He has gone on standing there uselessly, foolishly, for too long when somebody grips his arm tightly.

“Lupin, love! So glad you’re here. This morning’s crossword is an absolute bugger.”

Pomona Sprout, her face more serious than her voice, tugs his arm gently and he follows her.

“I've already written to my father,” he hears the Malfoy boy crow, purposefully shrill. “He will certainly have a thing or two to say about dangerous monsters teaching at a top school like Hogwarts.”

“The only thing you will be explaining to your father, boy, is you deplorable mark for my class,” barks the witch, causing the Slytherins to sit up abruptly.

Remus, whose hearing is another quality he owes to the wolf, catches a muttered “miserable old dyke” as they pass, but he is certain his friend could not have heard. She squeezes his arm as they reach the teachers’ table and ushers him into a chair.

“Chin up old chum,” she murmurs. “Don't give the little toe rag the satisfaction.”

He sits shakily and begins to fill his plate. He isn't remotely hungry, but he is afraid that if he doesn't, Pomona will insist on doing it for him.

“Thank you,” he says, when he can trust himself to speak. “I didn't realise…”

“I’m afraid the fan has hit the shit,” she says. “Is that what muggles say? It is going to be a hairy couple of weeks at any rate, but all of the staff are behind you. Well, _most_ of us are.”

He follows her glare down to the other side of the table and realises that Snape has been watching him. The man meets his gaze with an expression that is nether triumphant nor apologetic.

It is broken abruptly by a red cheeked Minerva who approaches to say a few terse words to Snape that he cannot make out, before swishing out of the hall, giving Remus a quick, meaningful pat on the shoulder as she leaves.

Unable to eat, he pours himself a cup of tea. He can leave, he decides, once he has finished it. Or finished most of it. He spends the next few minutes pretending to be engrossed in Pomona’s crossword puzzle and trying ease the rushing in his ears until a scuffle breaks out on the Hufflepuff table.

A group of fourth years have drawn their wands and Pomona is about to get to her feet when the student in the centre of the fray angrily forces his way out and moves towards them.

Cedric Diggory, if anything, radiates more fear than the others, but he makes a point of looking Remus in the eye.

“Professor Lupin?”

Remus arranges his face into a smile.

“Can I help you, Cedric?”

“I just wanted to say thanks actually. For your help this term. I’m sure I would’ve failed defence otherwise.”

That is a lie. Diggory is one of those breezily capable types who has never failed an exam in his life, but he is touched by the gesture all the same. The whole thing is very James in its clumsy, ‘good sport’ sort of decency.

“No need to thank me. It was an excellent exam if I recall, particularly the practical.”

“There are a lot of us who are hoping you will be back next year.”

“I'm afraid that won't be possible.”

Pomona puts her teacup down with a clunk.

“I'm sure there is no need to be hasty - “ she begins, but Remus interrupts her, trying to sound cheerful.

“It isn't just a matter of people knowing that I’m, well…as I am. There are other matters to take into account. Fear not though Cedric, I have no doubt that my replacement will be excellent.”

He smiles again, ignoring the sceptical look on Diggory’s face. A couple of students applaud as the lad returns to his table. Some hiss and most of them keep their heads down, awkward and afraid.

He can't stay here any longer.

The hall quietens again as he leaves, so that Remus feels like his uneven, limping footsteps are the loudest thing in the room, until Molly’s twins get up on their chairs from the far end of the Gryffindor table.

“We love you too Professor L!”

“Maybe not as much as Diggory…”

“But you're still the best defence teacher we’ve had!”

“Though that’s not saying much really considering…”

“But even so - “

Their brother Percy puts a swift stop to any more of that. Remus slips out of the hall as fast as his sense of propriety will allow and staggers into the staff toilet, sinking to the floor of the farthest away cubicle with his back safely against the bolted door.

He must have been there for twenty minutes or more, the blood rushing in his ears and his heart pounding so fast it's hard to properly catch his breath, when he recognises that he has been here before.

It is, he supposes wryly, the most obvious sanctuary for anybody fleeing the scrutiny of the great hall, be they a vulnerable sixteen year old student or an erstwhile, so-called professor in their thirties.

Last time he had stayed holed up here for hours, ignoring the pathetic sound of Padfoot fretting and whining on the other side of the door. Eventually the others had come. James had kicked the idiot mutt out and Peter had thoughtfully slid a packet of cheese and onion crisps under the door for him and finally both boys had threatened to blow it off its hinges if he didn't come out.

It's a little odd to think of Peter now. He was prepared to kill the cringing coward in the shack for what he did to Sirius and Lily and James and he would be again, but the good natured boy he remembers has been dead to him for twelve years and somehow he cannot reconcile the two. Perhaps it's better that way.

Time to be an adult again, he decides wearily. But before he moves to stand, his hand brushes against something on the wood panelled wall, close to the floor.

Graffiti is common enough in the student toilets but it is close to unheard of on staff premises. He bends to get a closer look and his heart leaps into his mouth as he recognises the elegant, aristocratic handwriting burned into the wood; a message it has taken him nearly twenty years to receive:

_I’m sorry_

—————-

  
Snape does not knock.

Remus has already vacated his bedroom and was hoping to be swift enough to avoid this exchange. No such luck. He turns reluctantly.

“Hello Severus,” he says.

“I have not come to apologise,” says the man, stiffly.

Remus does not bother to school his bitter smile.

“That doesn't entirely surprise me.”

Snape closes the door behind himself with an incisive click.

“The events of last night left me no other option. You are a danger to others.”

“Yes,” says Remus. “I am. But did it not occur to you that I may have already reached that conclusion myself? That I might have given my resignation without the need to have my condition made common knowledge to the entire wizarding world?”

He has tried not to dwell on it too much, but he knows that the discomfort of breakfast this morning is nothing to what walking through Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley will entail from now on.

It seems that the thought has occurred to Snape too, whose grim expression falters for a moment, revealing something that looks almost like guilt, but then he sets his shoulders and narrows his eyes.

“You put everyone at risk to run back into the arms of that foul - “

“An innocent man continues to suffer because you would not look beyond a schoolboy grudge, while the person responsible for the deaths of Lily and James runs free - “

“Dumbledore may be soft hearted enough to believe this nonsense,” the man snarls, “but we both know what Black is capable of. A monster who even as a schoolboy could send a classmate to his death in the shrieking sh-“

Remus is not aware of the moment he picks up the empty wolfsbane vial from his desk, but the noise it makes as it shatters against the wall is rather satisfying, as is the hasty, flailing movement Snape makes to avoid it.

“You're deranged,” croaks Snape. “You're as mad as Black is.”

Remus shrugs, feeling lighter all of a sudden.

“I would like to get on with my packing now,” he says mildly. “Please get out.”

Snape hesitates and looks as if he wishes to say more. But in the end, he thinks, Snape will never choose to communicate. He flounces out, leaving the door open behind him.

Remus mends the vial idly with his wand. When he resumes his packing, he begins to hum.

—————-

He sleeps for most of the carriage journey and when he arrives, it is almost dark.

Philip has, by some miracle, received his owl and is there to meet him with the car.

“Bad luck old boy,” he says as he lifts Remus’ suitcase into the boot. “I'm sorry it didn’t work out.”

Remus gives him a weary smile but he doesn't feel like saying much. Philip takes his hand for a moment before he starts the car, but he doesn't press him. He doesn't try to fill the silence with chatter either, simply flicks on the radio - a symphony of some sort, barely even audible over the frequent hiss of interference - and they both settle back into their gentle rhythm.

 

 --------------------------------------

 

Remus had just lost his job at the university library when he met Philip. Or rather, as his floppy haired superior, ‘Kieran’ put it, they had decided not to renew his contract.

There had been talk of a more permanent position once the maternity cover was up, but Remus had not exactly been holding his breath; too many ‘talks’ about the dress code and about reliability, and then that time he came in the morning after the full moon with two broken ribs and they found him asleep in the poetry section…

Still, it always stung a little to be sent packing.

Dr Philip McNulty seemed exactly the type of academic that usually annoyed Remus the most. He could only be in his early forties but his tweed jackets and little round spectacles gave him the pompous assurance of a much older man.

The other librarians hated him because he talked down to them with a manner of distracted contempt that got their backs up and he never returned books on time.

Remus had seen him around on a couple of occasions, but as the temp he was more often working at the shelves than issuing books. This afternoon, however, he was helping Tasha with the photocopier when the man approached the desk.

“I need to borrow this book, please.”

“I'm on a break,” said Tasha abruptly, stalking off with a scowl.

The man did not seem to notice the gesture and passed the book to Remus earnestly.

Close up he actually looked quite unassuming. He had a rosy, boyish face and a round little double chin that made him appear quite friendly.

“Do you have your card?”

“Ah…no. Perhaps you could just issue it…”

“Your name then?”

The man looked sheepish, like a child caught misbehaving.

“Doctor Philip McNulty,” he said.

Remus nodded and entered his details solemnly, trying to pretend he did not already know what he would find. There was a mock ‘wanted’ poster with an unflattering picture of Doctor Philip McNulty through in the back room that somebody had made years ago. Crimes included ‘egregious library misuse’ and ‘being a twat’ among other things. More recently somebody had drawn him a moustache and a baseball cap.

“I'm afraid you have too many outstanding items for the system to allow any more. And fines -“

“Oh yes, remind me how much?”

“Seven hundred and sixty eight pounds and twenty seven pence,” said Remus mildly.

The man’s composure dissolved and two spots of red appeared on his round cheeks.

“For god’s sake, I'm an academic, not the sodding Medici…”

“I'm sure if you just returned a few things. More’s Utopia for instance, has been overdue for six years…”

“ _Return a few things_ …oh you people are all the same.”

Remus’ mouth quirked and he looked down at the computer to hide it.

“You would…prefer not to return it?”

“If I return it then some imbecile undergrad twerp will take it out!”

“That is, unfortunately, how libraries work,” said Remus sympathetically. “Have you thought of ah…buying your own copy?”

“And lose six years’ worth of annotations? Never.”

At that, Remus could not quite contain a little snort of amusement and the man’s cheeks reddened some more.

“Look here,” he began, “it is extremely important that I am able to work and -“

“It’s just the system won't let me issue them for you even if I -“

“Damn you bunch of snivelling pen pushing -“

Behind him, Kieran passed and gave Remus a wide earnest grin and two thumbs up. It’s probably why he did what he did next.

“- but if you add that book to the two you already have stuffed up your jumper I can disable the alarm for a minute and you can make a run for it.”

The man stopped and gaped.

“Better do it now before I change my mind and alert our library overlords.”

“Well I never,” said Dr Philip McNulty, stuffing the book into his jumper. “A librarian on the side of light.”

—

Remus saw him again about two weeks later as he swept the floor in the local coffee shop.

“My god man, did they sack you for it?”

Remus turned with a jolt, taking a moment to figure out who he was.

“Oh - no, it was only a…temporary job.”

“Blast,” said Dr Philip McNulty. “Hoped I'd found an ally on the inside at last.”

“Afraid not.”

Remus smiled and was about to turn back to his work when the man put a hand on his shoulder gently. It was just a touch, but there was something about it that that signalled something tentative, something he had not foreseen.

“I should like to thank you, even if I didn't lose you your job. Do you have a break soon?”

“I get off in an hour,” said Remus, fighting his natural urge to retreat and the sudden hammering in his chest. _Why not._  “But please let's go somewhere else. I've been here for nine hours.”

“Pub then?”

Remus grinned.

“Pub.”

—————-

It was easy with Philip. He was clever, kind, interesting, and he never seemed to need to step past the boundaries that Remus had years ago, without meaning to, put in place. In fact, it seemed to suit him.

“People have been disappointed in me before,” he said to Remus early on. “I'm not able to give as much as they would like. I'm content in my work. It's more or less enough for me.”

A few months in, Remus decided this might be an arrangement that could last, and so he cooked a lamb stew for them, forked out for a wine Philip wouldn't complain about, and as they were finishing he said, as sensibly as he could:

“There are three reasons why being with me is a bad idea. I'm going to tell you them all and then you can decide what to do.”

Philip mopped the rest of his stew up with some bread.

“Alright.”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to feel absurd.

“I'm a wizard.”

Philip blinked.

“A wizard,” he echoed. “You mean of the staff-wielding, magical variety?”

“Sort of, yes.”

Remus stared at his lap while the man gave him a long, shrewd look.

“Go on,” said Philip eventually.

“Go on?”

“You said there were three things.”

Remus took a deep breath.

“Alright. I've also been a werewolf since I was five, and…ah…the last person I was in any sort of relationship with is in prison for murder.”

Philip’s face was impassive but there was an extra pinkness to his cheeks, a slight tension in his body. Remus couldn't tell yet if it was hostility.

“Show me,” he said softly.

“Show…show you what?”

“Do some…wizardry to prove that you are not deluded.”

Remus took out his wand self consciously - that alone provoked an incredulous snort of almost-amusement from Philip - and transfigured his fork into a daffodil. The man inspected the flower gravely and then put it down.

“What else?”

Remus thought for a minute and then apparated to the far side of the room.

Philip stared at him, visibly shaken.

“My god,” he whispered. “What else?”

“What el- I’m not a sodding court jester Phil, you're going to have to take me at my word eventually.”

“It is rather a leap, old boy,” said Philip mildly.

Remus sighed and began to levitate the objects on the dinner table, one at a time.

“Will that do?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Philip, his eyes rather bright. “That will do”

He was quiet for a moment and Remus had begun to wonder if he ought to leave the man’s house and never return, when Philip quite abruptly banged his fist on the table with a shout of triumph.

“I knew it!”

Remus jumped and the daffodil sprung back to its original form.

“You…knew?”

“Doctor Dee, Rasputin, Alchemy, Divination…I'm a historian Remus, you think I haven't wondered? Bring it up in a serious scholarly debate though and you'll be laughed out of the room.”

“So you're not -“

“There must be a system in place - some kind of community but…I suppose then I'm to be sworn to secrecy,” the man sighed with a distant, distracted look on his plump face. “Christ, I could write a paper on the Elizabethans this minute that would change the field forever but there are clearly some very important people making sure this is all kept under wraps otherwise somebody else would have figured it out yonks ago.”

“Afraid so,” said Remus, struggling to keep up with the speed of his thoughts. “Your prime minister knows but otherwise -“

“O _ur_ prime minister? So you lot have your own then? My god I demand you explain it all at once...”

“But Philip…about the other things…”

“Oh yes werewolf you say. Sounds possibly even less credible than the rest but in light of what you just did with that - that - magic wand…” he laughed excitedly. “Common amongst wizard types is it then, lycanthropy?”

“Not really. It's a curse - in the magical sense, I mean. Unbreakable. It's not especially accepted.”

“A curse,” said Philip, eying him shrewdly. “It's the reason you don't have some fancy job doing magic then? I have wondered why someone of your age and intelligence is working in Delice de France.”

Remus nodded, blushing, and almost as an afterthought, Philip grinned.

“So you don't eat people I presume.”

“No,” said Remus primly.

“But you do…transform, howl at the moon and all that.”

Remus winced and laughed at the same time.

“Yes, though these days I take a potion - a drug that means I won't try and hurt people.”

Philip’s eyes widened.

“Good lord does that mean I could actually _watch it happen?!”_

“Absolutely not!” Remus choked. “It's actually all rather, well…awful and I would hate for you to see it.”

Philip nodded chastened.

“I didn't mean to be insensitive,” he said. “It's just all so bloody fascinating.”

Remus looked down somewhat flustered and not all inclined to remind him of the third thing that made him an unsuitable partner. Eventually, though Philip seemed to get to it.

“So this ex then, is he…or _she?_ \- I've seen the way you look at Kirsty on Newsnight -“

“He,” Remus spluttered, wondering how this evening could have turned out to be more alarming for him than Philip. He man grinned at his discomfort.

“Is _he_ a wizard too?”

Remus nodded.

“How long’s he been in for.”

“Nearly eleven years.”

“Still hung up on him?”

“No. Yes. A bit.”

“Well,” said Philip after a pause. “I thought there had to be some reason for all that Wordsworthian melancholy.”

“I’ll understand completely if you decide to run for the hills.”

“I admit it's quite a lot to take in, but I see no reason for it to upset the status quo. And you will explain to me how all of your wizardy things work won't you?”

Remus smiled, and said that he would.

-

They began to slip into something of a routine after that. Two or three times a week they would meet to see a play or have dinner and spend the night together. It was an arrangement that suited them both; an easy companionship that demanded little.

Remus even got permission to connect their homes via floo. Philip’s flat was in better shape than the cottage, but the man preferred to stay at Remus’ more often than not because of the various magical odds and ends he could poke his nose into.

The delight it seemed to bring him both amused and perplexed Remus. His own muggle mother had never seemed all that taken with magic, but then he supposed having a werewolf for a son was probably enough to dampen any joy the wizarding world might have brought her.

They had been ambling along together in this manner for about ten months when Remus awoke in the night with the wolf bristling and tense in his senses, to the scent of magic outside the cottage. It was only a night away from the next full moon and his reflexes were at their swiftest, but he barely had time to put a hand on Philip’s arm, the man still snoring peacefully beside him, when the shock of the door being blasted open drove them both shouting from the bed.

He grabbed his wand from the bedside table and made for the door.

“Wizards,” he whispered to Philip. “Stay here.”

The smaller man rolled his eyes and reached for his dressing gown.

“Fat chance.”

“Remus Lupin,” barked a voice from beneath their feet.

Aurors then. It had been years since they had bothered to do a raid.

He hurried down the little wooden ladder from the bedroom mezzanine, wishing he was wearing more than an old t-shirt and boxers, and used his wand to light the lamps.

“Hello Crooks,” he said wearily as the familiar face became clear. Since the man had deposited him at the Lestrange Manor all of those years ago, he had encountered him with relative regularity in dealings with the ministry. He was rather a spineless, ineffectual sort, but more good natured than many. There were four more wizards with the old Auror, rifling through his meagre belongings with an urgent lack of care.

“Excuse the intrusion,” said Crooks. He had become fatter since Remus saw him last, and married too, by the band of gold around his left ring finger.

At his nod, one of the younger witches approached and Remus offered up his wrists resignedly.

“What can I do for you?” he asked wearily. The cuffs were of a new design, lighter but reeking of powerful magic. He flexed his wrists gingerly and shot Philip a warning look, praying he would keep his mouth shut.

“We have instructions to search your house and bring you back to headquarters with us.”

“Charming,” Philip muttered.

Crooks narrowed his eyes.

“Muggle?” he asked Remus who nodded awkwardly, well aware of Philip’s affronted glare. “Have you got clearing for this one or will we have to obliviate?”

“No need,” said Remus hastily. “Philip is my…boyfriend.”

“I'm on the floo network,” Philip added unhelpfully.

Crooks raised an eyebrow but did not comment.

“There is no sign of him here,” said one of the younger Aurors who had finished rifling through his drawer of personal papers.

“No sign of whom, please?” asked Remus, as politely as he could. The Auror gave him a disdainful look but did not bother to answer. Crooks sighed.

“I'll explain it all when we get back to headquarters, but I should warn you - Fudge has put the department on high alert, which I'm afraid means for questioning under the dark creatures act…”

“Veritaserum,” said Remus, feeling sick. It was obviously serious. They hadn’t put him through that in nearly a decade.

“Is it Sirius?” he asked, dread and grief pouring into his stomach like it was already true. “Is he dead?”

“Worse,” said Crooks. “He’s escaped.”

——————

Philip was dozing at the kitchen table as Remus arrived back in the early hours of the morning. There was an open bottle of wine and a glass next to him and in the middle of the table was a large bowl of something that looked unnervingly like jelly.

“You didn't have to stay.”

At the sound of his voice, Philip leaped up, startled, and upset his glass of wine.

“Blast! - Are you alright?”

“Not really,” said Remus, idly righting the wine with his wand.

Philip blinked as if caught off guard, then moved towards him. Remus had thought that he would want to be alone now but the feeling of the man’s hands on his shoulders was surprisingly welcome.

“I made you a trifle,” said Philip. “I…well I couldn't think of anything else to do but cook and you never have anything savoury in the cupboards…”

“Looks revolting,” said Remus, peering into the bowl suspiciously.

“Oh,” said Philip, again a little surprised sounding. “Did they hurt you?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

“They just wanted to make sure I wasn't helping Sirius, that he hadn't tried to contact me.”

“Do you think he might do that? Come here?”

“I doubt it,” said Remus. “But I wish he would.”

Philip looked thoughtful for a moment.

“How do you feel about him being on the loose?” he asked eventually.

“Relieved,” said Remus without hesitation. “Maybe this can end now. Maybe I’ll kill him.”

Philip’s fingers tightened around his shoulders and he turned Remus firmly to face him.

“I've never known a straight answer from you since the day we met,” he frowned. “You're still dosed up with whatever it is they gave you, aren't you.”

“Veritaserum,” said Remus automatically, and then jerked away from the other man in horror as the realisation dawned.“Shit I'm sorry! It can make you sort of forget you've taken it…”

He was usually fairly adept at navigating questioning under the potion, but it had already cost him dearly to hide Padfoot from Crooks tonight - an omission that, now Sirius was at large, was sitting painfully heavy in his chest. The wolf was coming too, sapping at his energy and muddling his thoughts. It was going to be a bad change tonight, he could feel it.

“I was…rude about your trifle wasn't I…”

“A slight I am willing to forget this once,” Philip twinkled, but he still looked troubled. “They are only allowed to do that to you because you are a werewolf aren't they.”

“We are not legally categorised as human. Certain privileges are denied.”

Philip shook his head.

“I wish there was something I could have done.”

He looked so earnestly forlorn that Remus was rather touched, and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

“There was nothing you could have done,” he said. “If you’d kicked up a fuss they would have taken you in too then tampered with your memory afterwards.”

Philip’s face darkened and he leaned over to pour himself another glass of wine.

“That war you said you fought in,” he said grimly. “Are you sure you won?”

—————-

Dumbledore arrived with depressing predictability on the morning after the full moon. Remus had a been a little too short for wolfsbane that month. Usually after potion-free changes he wasn't even able to stand up until at least the evening.

With a rather beautiful and unusual bit of magic, Dumbledore’s calling card - who knew he even had one - was conveyed through a crack in the cellar door by what appeared to be shining wisps of golden light.

  
Remus, for his part, could only manage to croak a feeble ‘just coming’ in response before dropping his head back down to the floor for what may have been two or twenty minutes more. It was impossible to be sure.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he eased himself up, felt for his wand in the crack in the wall that the wolf couldn't reach, and cast a few minor healing spells on the worst of his injuries.

By the time he limped upstairs, the light was falling through the kitchen window, bathing the old man in an otherworldly glow.

“I took the liberty of brewing some tea,” said Dumbledore, sending a cup his way with a flick of his wand.

Remus sat. He was too nauseous even for that, so he used the cup to warm his hands instead.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I'm sorry to disturb you at such an inconvenient time.”

“Not at all,” Remus smiled as best he could. “Funnily enough, I don't have much else planned.”

Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled but there was an infinitesimal quiver of unrest beneath his tranquil exterior that Remus could probably only perceive because it was so close to the full moon. He wondered, slightly alarmed, if Dumbledore had another task for him. It was impossible the man did not know about Sirius’ escape. Did he want him to go after him?

“I regret that I cannot linger,” he said. “Though I am well aware that you ought to be recovering in the comfort of your bed and not entertaining an old man so I will be brief. I wish to offer you the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts tutor at Hogwarts.”

Remus put down his mug too quickly and some tea sloshed on to the table. His first reaction was annoyance, hot anger flowing into his belly that he struggled to repress.

“I suppose this has absolutely nothing to do with yesterday’s news from Azkaban,” he said as evenly as he could.

“Those tidings have not yet been published in the Prophet,” said Dumbledore, eyebrows ever-so-slightly raised.

“They took me in for questioning the night before yesterday.” Remus smiled bitterly. “Perhaps I should be flattered that they still imagine I might be important to him.”

The old man looked pensive.

“This is not the first time I have asked you to teach at Hogwarts.”

It was true that Dumbledore had broached the subject three or four years ago, but then it had been so recently after the disaster with Lucy that it had seemed absurd. It still seemed absurd.

“Nothing has changed since then. I'm a wholly inappropriate choice - even if I were remotely qualified…”

“Your practical experience is considerable, your academic record is flawless -“

“Tell me you're not using me as bait for Sirius Black and I'll consider it.”

Dumbledore flinched a little at that, but he rallied himself quickly.

“I will not deny that Black’s escape has brought me here today, but not for the reasons you think.”

Remus’ head had begun to throb.

  
“I will not be here forever,” Dumbledore went on. “And I cannot hope to outlast all threats to Hogwarts and its students. I feel that there is more darkness to come and Black’s escape suggests it may come sooner than I thought. The young witches and wizards of Hogwarts deserve to be properly prepared for what lies ahead. And I am convinced there is no one better suited to guiding them than you.”

Remus took a sip of tea and regretted it as his stomach turned over.

“Harry is at Hogwarts,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I thought you didn't want me to see him.”

“I cannot explain to you my reasons for dealing with Lily’s child as I did, but I hope you will believe that was never the case. Moreover, as far as I am aware, Harry knows nothing about Sirius Black and his connection to his parents. He may have need of an adult he can trust this term.”

It wasn't fair. He was exhausted, in pain and utterly defenceless.

“Snape will be very upset,” he said, grasping at straws.

“We cannot please everybody,” said Dumbledore blithely.

“Do you think Sirius is going to come after Harry?”

The old man became thoughtful, his bright, penetrating eyes looking far beyond Remus.

“Something has been worrying me since I heard of Black’s escape,” he said. “Do _you_ think he would go after Harry?”

Remus rubbed at his eyes clumsily.

“If I had ever actually known anything about Sirius, then we might not be in this situation at all.”

Dumbledore sipped his tea.

“That,” he said grimly, “is precisely what troubles me.”

 

\---------------------------

 

After resigning from Hogwarts, Remus doesn't leave the cottage for three days.

The letters start to arrive that first morning. Most are anonymous. People are probably afraid he will come after them if he knows who they are.

There are seventy six in total and, in spite of Philip’s protests, he reads every one. Seventy five of them are calling for his immediate imprisonment or death. The seventy sixth is from the father of a second year Ravenclaw asking to interview him about his pedagogical philosophies for a fringe publication called the Quibbler. It includes a hand drawn picture of a friendly looking wolf in a pink bobble hat from his daughter. Philip tapes that one to the fridge.

On the fourth day, Philip has to go back to work. He has taken all of it; Sirius’ innocence, the events leading to Remus’ resignation, in his stride.

“Go out for a walk,” he says before he leaves. “It will do you good.”

Remus doesn't go out for a walk. He spends four hours penning useless letters to Sirius and when he finally accepts that he will never be able to put what he needs to explain into words, he tears out the Quibbler crossword and completes just one clue: _Four Down_ \- _Regret_ , and packs it off with his owl, Gladys. There is no guarantee she will find him - if the man has any sense he will be hundreds of miles away by now - but it eases his mind somewhat simply to have done something.

That evening brings with it an article in the Daily Prophet with the headline: _HOGWARTS REELS FROM WEREWOLF SHOCKER_ complete with recent photograph of Remus taken from the Dark Creatures registry.

Remus pours himself a glass of sherry and settles down with a book.

And at about quarter past nine, Gladys appears at the windowsill. He assumes she has simply given up already but when she plops the crossword into his lap he sees it has been added to.

Somebody has scored out the word _regret_ and written somewhat unsubtly: _BOLLOCKS TO ALL OF IT, MOONY_ in large block capitals. That same somebody has also filled in the answer for seven across: _Alluring woman (5),_  with the word _MINERVA_ , ignoring any notion of keeping the letters within the boxes.

Remus grins and feels a knot that has been lodged painfully in his chest these past few days uncurl by an inch or two. He thinks for a minute and then takes a piece of parchment.

 _My decrepit owl found you within hours_ , he writes. _Please be a better fugitive. M_

Gladys does not return that night and he is relieved. Perhaps Sirius has moved on already.

He knows it is ridiculous, but he shows the crossword to Philip at the weekend; as if there is some call for transparency, as if he needs to be clear about what seven words scrawled over a crossword puzzle could mean after twelve years. Absurd.

Philip, who has been cautiously uninquisitive about the entire subject of Sirius Black smiles benignly as if testing the waters.

“I'm glad to hear he is doing alright,” he says lightly. “And on the subject of Minerva - “

“A favourite subject of yours, I’ve noticed,” he grins. They spent last Hogmanay up in Scotland with McGonagall and a few others and she and Philip hit it off immediately. He has begun to suspect that they occasionally socialise without him

"You know I'd marry that woman in a heartbeat if I wasn't shackled to you.” says Philip, then with unconvincing offhandedness: “She’s invited us to meet her this afternoon in fact. In that village you promised to take me to. Hoggersdale or something…”

Remus looks up sharply.

“We can't go to Hogsmeade, Phil. Not today.”

“You can't hide here in your pyjamas forever, old boy,” the other man says, ever so gently.

“She could come here.”

“That, as you well know, would entirely negate our thinly disguised plot to get you out and about.”

Remus scowls, but nobody ever really disobeys Minerva.

And it turns out to be both better and worse than he imagined. Mr Scrivenshaft who used to give him free quills because he was so polite, refuses to serve him at all, and a fair haired Hufflepuff he recognises from his first year class bursts into tears when he walks into Dogweed and Deathcap; but most people pass them without a second glance. He knows some of them must have recognised him from the Prophet, but it appears that human beings are in general milder in person than by post.

The Three Broomsticks turns out to be the location of the school governors’ end of term luncheon. He sees Lucius Malfoy and his cronies from the window, but Minerva is quick enough to steer them away from there at the last moment, citing the need for a change of scene. Finally, Remus sinks gratefully into a corner spot in the Hog’s Head, which is dark, slightly odd smelling and, best of all, practically empty.

Aberforth insists on pouring them each a firewhisky on the house, _there’s always a drink to be had here for the Order and their friends_ , and Minerva, charmingly flushed for the remainder of the afternoon, talks a little shop with Remus and amuses herself answering Philip’s increasingly detailed questions with droll erudition.

When they get back, Gladys is on the windowsill looking exhausted and bedraggled. The parchment attached to her leg is in a similar state. Sirius’ hurried scrawl is on the back of Remus’ original letter:

_Turns out you're right. Need to lie a bit lower for a while. No more owls._

_Pads.  
_

_P.S. Nice pic of you in the Prophet. Good hair._

It worries him. Sirius has already survived a year on the run, and Remus is still the only person alive who knows he is an animagus, but the helplessness of knowing that Sirius is being hunted and that he can do nothing to help is maddening.

Pestering Dumbledore yields little result. The man, it turns out, has already visited Fudge three times to no avail. He sends an owl to Snape, _your testimony could save an innocent man_ and so on _,_ but he receives no reply.

Six days pass.

On Friday, Philip cooks the only dish he knows how to make (coq au vin) and hey spend a quiet evening together at Remus’ cottage; Philip reclining on the sofa, reading aloud from the worst of the student essays he is marking and Remus trying to concentrate on his book.

There is something cheerful by Handel on the radio and the fire is crackling merrily.

“Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester pushed his wife down the stairs in a bid to win the hand of Elizabeth,” reads Philip. “No he fucking didn't. And they’ve spelled Leicester wrong.”

Philip hates marking. He was once given an official warning for failing every student who incorrectly used the word less instead of fewer.

Remus smiles indulgently and reaches for his wine when they hear the kitchen window shatter.

“Wizard police?” Philip asks, alarmed. Remus shakes his head. The sound of crockery hitting the floor is next.

“Right.”

Philip is first to his feet. Remus’s hips tend to stiffen like an old man's when he sits too long these days.

“Jesus Christ!” he hears Philip yelling and hurries after him. “There’s a giant ruddy hawk thing drinking the washing up water!”

“Don't move!”

“He’s staring! Fuck Remus is he going to take a swipe at me?”

“Don't drop your eyes, try not to blink.”

_“What??”_

Remus tries to dredge up anything else he knows about Hippogriffs.

“They’re rather easily offended. Try a bow.”

“Are you serious?”

“Just do it.”

Philip bobs hesitantly and to his relief the creature nods and takes a step back so that only the tip of his beak remains inside the kitchen.

“What on earth is that?” Philip gasps, staggering back and clutching Remus’ arm.

“I think his name might be Buckbeak,” says Remus, thoughts racing. “And if he is here…”

He runs to the front door and scrabbles with the key. The figure looks startled as the door swings open, as if he had been planning to knock. He looks even worse than when Remus last saw him. His eyes are glassy and feverish and he is clutching his right hand to his chest.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “Never wanted to come, only…”

He holds out his right wrist and Remus almost retches. It's bent in a way he's never seen before and swollen to nearly twice it's size.

“What happened?”

“Long story. Tried to set it myself,” he says, words slurring a little. “Didn't manage. No wand. Can you just…I'll be gone in ten minutes…”

“Come in,” he says, mind whirling.

The man looks at him uncertainly, a glimmer of something troubled beneath the feverish brightness.

“Sorry,” he says again. “I think I might - “

And before Remus is able to catch him, Sirius Black faints on the doorstep.

 

 

 

 


End file.
